


a moon so bright

by andnowforyaya



Category: B.A.P
Genre: Fairy Tale Elements, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-27
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2018-06-04 21:39:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 23,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6676354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andnowforyaya/pseuds/andnowforyaya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A monster lives at the top of the mountain, and Daehyun will be the next sacrifice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. prologue.

Yongguk awakens to grit in his eyes, in his mouth, a dull pain radiating all over his body. He awakens to the lingering chill of morning, the brightest star and dreadful moon still white silhouettes in the sky. In the corner, what used to be a bed frame creaks against the barest breeze coming through a torn window, the posts about to topple with huge chunks of the finished wood gouged out of them. His chest feels empty and cool, hollow and burned out. With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, he lets his gaze roam over the remains of the room, over the ruined wardrobe and curtains, the overturned furniture, over the drying, dark splashes of blood.

The only thing that is not ruined is the mirror standing by the arch of the bedroom door, the cloth that usually covers it reduced to rags. He sees himself in it, unscathed and unmarred save for the ink scrawled into the skin of his forearms. He’s running out of room on them. 

In the mirror, he sees her body. What’s left of it. She didn’t make it through the night.

.

In the morning, there is a boy at the gate of Yongguk’s estate, arrived by foot. He would have been taken to the edge of the forest by carriage the night prior, told to walk the long hours up the mountain along a narrow, winding path to the estate on his own. 

The trek is long and arduous; Yongguk has made it only a few times himself. Usually, by the time the travelers reach the top, they are dazed, exhausted and scratched up from their journey, their eyes unseeing of the beauty of the estate before them, their sense of duty the only thing keeping them on their feet. Junhong, the boy who is Yongguk’s groundskeeper, will retrieve them, lead them through the iron gate and straight through the center of the hedge maze before the house to the front door, where he will lead them again to their rooms, to a change of clothes and a bath, a warm meal. “They deserve these comforts,” Junhong reminds Yongguk when he asks him why he bothers.

This boy at the gate is neither dazed nor confused. Yongguk, hidden behind a heavy curtain as he gazes out of a window on the second floor of his home, watches the boy pace in front of the gate, watches how he frets, crosses his arms, gazes up at the sun as though he is waiting. He is impatient, Yongguk sees, but for what? He is not like the others who have been sent to him, those young men and women whose skin had been thin like paper, their eyes haunted. This boy’s skin is the very shade of fine wet sand and his hair is so black it shines blue. As is tradition, he is dressed in white: a white tunic and white pants and soft white shoes that are already in tatters. It doesn’t matter; the shoes only need to last the one trip. 

He pushes away from the papered window when he sees Junhong walking down the long, dusty path through the center of the maze to greet the newcomer. He doesn’t need to look at the new boy any longer. 

In a month, he will be dead.

.


	2. the gate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> made a few small edits to the prologue that shouldn't change the reading of this story much, but wanted to let you know :)

It takes Daehyun from the time the sun is just inching over the line of the horizon until it is at its zenith in the sky to get to the top of the mountain. By the time he reaches the wrought-iron gates housing a large, sprawling estate carved right into the side of the mountain, his stomach is tight with hunger, his hairline is damp with sweat, and his feet are bleeding through his soft canvas shoes.

Why on earth the village decided to send their boys and girls up a mountain in what basically amounted to house slippers completely escapes Daehyun. Is it a sort of punishment, he wonders, some spiteful last act on the village’s behalf? As if to say to the master of the mountain, _here, you monster, are your damaged goods._

He stands before the gates, contemplating if there’s something he should be doing to alert the mountain of his existence. Perhaps there is a bell he can ring? Looking around the front gate, however, he finds nothing. Up here, hours away from the edge of the woods at the bottom of the mountain, everything is silent. Daehyun can hear the sound of his own heart beating in the stillness of it all, until a light breeze sifts through the damp clumps of his hair and patches of sweat on his white clothes, carrying the sound of glass clinking together, a pleasant series of chimes ringing.

Curious, he paces back and forth in front of the gate to investigate further, but there’s nothing unusual about the gate and adjacent fence, laid with stone and rising an arm’s length above Daehyun’s head. Beyond the gate, a footpath winds through a lush maze of vegetation -- Daehyun thinks he can hear the faint tinklings of a waterfall, and maybe those glass chimes again -- and disappears in a mix of flora, stone animal sculptures, and patches of sand with patterns raked into the grains.

The house, Daehyun can see, begins somewhere in the thick of that maze and then extends up the rest of the mountain, like it is part of the mountain itself, built on its peak and heightening it further in gradually tapered levels. A castle in the sky. It not only extends _up_ but also _across_ ; Daehyun makes out a short, covered bridge connecting two wings of the house. The structure has been painted in greens and yellows, mirroring the natural world around it.

It’s the biggest house Daehyun has ever seen. His master’s house -- former master, he supposes now -- is one of the largest in the village, but it can’t compare to the greatness Daehyun drinks in before him. This is obviously an estate that was designed with luxury in mind, or maybe a god of legend; Daehyun can make out multiple terraces and strings of lanterns draped outside of papered windows, can easily imagine a line of noblemen in wait as the estate opens its doors to welcome guests to a grand dinner party, with entertainers from the illustrious, golden city of Seoul waiting to greet them. Mr. Yoo’s house doesn’t have strings of lanterns, or terraces, though it does have a servants’ quarter. And Youngjae.

Daehyun takes the iron bars into his hands, shaking the gate lightly and not allowing himself to think about his former master’s son. Instead, he focuses on the estate, on his purpose here. What kind of person could live in such beauty, yet dole out such horror?

This morning, when he’d been awakened by the village Council members and instructed to change into the clothes he’s wearing now, when he’d been herded to a stuffy carriage and taken to the edge of the woods, when the head of the Council explained he’d been chosen as the next offering and how grateful the village was for his sacrifice, Daehyun had been numb, ears buzzing and mind blank. The words had washed right over him, leaving him feeling like he’d been doused in ice.

On the long hike up the mountain, he’d been conflicted. He could run and escape this fate, but then what? He’d have nowhere to go in the village as he doubted anyone would take him back, and who knows if there would even be a village to return to? The role of the offering, every orphan in the village learns, is to ensure the monster of the mountain does not destroy the village in its rage. For years now, the village has been satisfying the monster’s bloodlust by plucking orphans to throw into its maw. A gift. An orphan who lives off the generosity of the village should be beholden to such an admirable sacrifice. Or so they are told.

Daehyun could run, but they’d choose another boy or girl to take his place, and his feet carried him up the mountain when he realized he couldn’t stomach that sort of guilt and responsibility.

Now, his feet prickle in his flimsy shoes, the painful sting of multiple cuts finally overcoming his numbness as the reality of his situation catches up to him.

He’s here, and there is no one coming to help him. If he is to survive -- if there’s even a chance that he can survive -- he will have to fight. Daehyun has fought before: other orphans for the last piece of bread; other boys for a chance to earn a day’s pay; Youngjae for countless trivial and significant things. He can fight. He _will_ fight. His fingers tighten around the iron bars until his knuckles are ghostly white.

The estate looms before him, magnificent and haunting, and then through the center of the maze, emerging from that murky darkness, Daehyun sees a boy walking towards him.

.

“You don’t look like a monster,” is what Daehyun says to the boy on the other side of the gate as he presses his face close to the bars, like he could push his way through the unforgiving element with only his will, frowning.

The boy laughs. It’s a bright laugh, not monster-like at all, and his nose wrinkles up in a way that reminds Daehyun of a kitten smelling something new. He’s almost a head-and-a-half taller than Daehyun, with thick black hair that looks like it hasn’t been brushed in a few days. There’s a twig and a leaf in it, and Daehyun releases the iron gate from his hands and steps back so he doesn’t do something foolish like swat them from the boy’s head. Then he steps forward again, not wanting to appear nervous or intimidated. He juts his chin up and balls his fists at his sides.

The boy is dressed simply in pants that probably used to be white before but are now dusty and stained with dirt and grass especially at the knees. His tunic is a rich, forest green. “I’m just a boy,” he says, coming up close to the bars himself. He holds his hands out in front of him, as though for Daehyun to examine.

_See? Claw-free,_ his expression seems to say, one eyebrow quirked up higher than the other. Daehyun allows himself a quick glance at the stranger’s palms, finding nothing unusual about them except for how they are dusted with earth, like he’d just been digging something out of the ground.

Like the bones of long-dead orphans.

Daehyun clenches his jaw, willing the thought from his mind. “Do you have a name, just-a-boy, or do I not have the right to know it?”

The boy grins, his teeth white and sharp, canines especially pronounced. “You may know it,” he says easily, allowing himself a pregnant pause. “But only after you tell me yours.”

“Jung. Dae. Hyun,” Daehyun says, enunciating every syllable. He points to the spot just above his right ear, unable to help himself. “And you have a leaf in your hair.”

The boy shakes his head, dislodging the twig and leaf. The twig drops straight to the ground. The leaf flutters, winding to the dirt in tiny circles. He laughs again, and from somewhere behind him, the chimes ring.

“It’s Choi Junhong,” the boy says. “I’m here to welcome you to the estate.”

.

 


	3. the maze

Junhong opens the gate, the metal protesting with only a quiet groan, and Daehyun considers the line in the dirt, the precise separation of the dark, rich soil that marks the end of the woods from the lighter, almost sand-like consistency of the soil delineating the beginning of the estate. It’s as if even nature protests entering the property of the monster.

“The only way is forward, Jung. Dae. Hyun,” Junhong says with heaviness, his chin tucked into his chest as Daehyun levels him with a glare.

“Are you suggesting I’m going to try to run?” The thought of it stings Daehyun’s pride, as ridiculous as it may sound.

“You wouldn’t be the first,” Junhong says, shrugging. His eyes are a dark, rich brown, and despite the earlier teasing he’d subjected Daehyun to, his expression dulls, the spark that had allowed laughter before seeming to disappear. In its place is a serious young man, whose eyes accuse Daehyun of something he has yet to do. Daehyun wonders if Junhong has chased down other orphans in the past, has dragged them kicking and screaming into the estate. The boy doesn’t _look_ like he has that particular thread of viciousness in him, but there was something about him that threw Daehyun off. Like the ease with which he’d slipped on this disaffected mask.

“Well,” Daehyun bristles, pushing his way past Junhong and suppressing the shiver that travels down his spine as he crosses the imaginary barrier he’d created between his world and the monster’s. “I’m not going to run.” He marches forward no more than ten steps before the sandy path splits into three, each path darkened immediately by a thick, dense copse of tall bamboo, each path a mystery. Here and there, in between slivers of the bamboo plants, Daehyun can make out the stone statues he’d noticed earlier, but there are no other distinguishing marks. He considers each path.

Junhong says, his voice much closer to Daehyun’s ear than expected, “They all lead to the same place. It was designed that way. Come on -- follow me.”

The other boy’s long legs bring him even with Daehyun quickly and then he surpasses him, and Daehyun finds himself scrambling to keep up. It is dark on the path Junhong chooses, the bamboo thick enough to blot out the sun in some parts, and more than once Daehyun gets the feeling that he is being watched. They pass a stone statue of a lion with eyes that do not seem to be made of stone at all. He mutters silent curses at Junhong’s rapid pace to distract himself from the feeling of being watched, from imagining the lion’s eyes following his back as they pass. Every step of Junhong’s needs two for Daehyun to match, and despite the path they’ve taken being clearly marked on either side by the bamboo, the ground is harsh on Daehyun’s thin soles and sore feet, rife with small, irritating rocks. When they’ve been walking for a few minutes, Daehyun’s foot comes down on an uneven stone and he cries out at the jagged pain that travels up his entire leg.

Junhong freezes, and air going still around him also. Daehyun gulps, wondering if his cry had been too loud. Did they attract unwanted attention?

“Why have we stopped?” he demands.

“Why were you sent here?” Junhong returns, the question causing Daehyun to stand up straighter. He considers the broad expanse of Junhong's back, the line of the other boy's shoulders stiff and tight.

“Every month,” Daehyun says, “the village sends an orphan up the mountain. I guess it was my time.” The air of nonchalance he tries to affect does not match him, but if Junhong notices anything under the guise, he doesn’t comment.

“You won’t fight it?”

“I won’t send another in my place,” Daehyun says, glaring now. Junhong turns to examine him from a distance before sighing and coming closer, crouching down and, without any preamble, lifting Daehyun’s foot so suddenly that Daehyun almost loses balance with an undignified yelp. He grabs onto Junhong’s shoulder for support as the other boy inspects his injured foot.

“I don’t know why the village sends you in such poor clothing,” Junhong says, pointing at the blood that has seeped through the cotton on his foot. “And shoes!” With a huff, he nearly throws Daehyun’s foot back to the ground. Then he steps out of his sandals. “Put these on instead. They’ll be a little big, but it’s better than nothing.”

Daehyun lets his mouth hang open in surprise. “But then you’ll have nothing,” he points out.

“I grew up here,” Junhong says. “My feet can handle it.”

He starts forward down the path again before Daehyun can protest. Decisively, Daehyun pulls off his ruined cotton slippers and winces as he steps gingerly into Junhong’s sandals. They are worn leather, with thick, padded soles, and to Daehyun, it feels like stepping on clouds.

The path twists and turns, and Daehyun follows Junhong. At one point, they cross over a tiny, red footbridge over a babbling stream, and Daehyun hears those chimes again. It would be magical if it weren’t so terrifying.

.

When Daehyun is starting to feel faint with hunger again, the bamboo abruptly ends and they emerge from it to face the house.

Up close, it is even more impressive.

The house seems to have been built into the mountain itself, or formed from it, facets of rock blending with the green and yellow wood and the papered windows. Daehyun doesn’t have much time to admire the outside of it, however, as Junhong quickly guides him to the entrance. Inside, Junhong points out a pair of slippers for Daehyun to change into, and he does so, wincing again when he realizes the cuts he’d suffered before have not completely dried yet.

He discovers quickly that the first floor is simply the entrance with a few rooms that seem to be for storage, and Junhong guides him to the staircase in the middle of the floor. They arrive on the second, and here Junhong turns and gestures for Daehyun to follow again.

The bamboo has been carried inside the house, as well; much of the structure seems to be built from it, and the floor, when it is not polished wood, is covered in braided mats. It’s a surprisingly traditional, homely interior, with sliding doors and geographic patterns replicated throughout. Light seeps in through the papered windows, and lanterns provide warm light where there are no windows. Scrolls of poetry and calligraphy line the walls.

“It’s beautiful,” Daehyun breathes, as they arrive to the next staircase. Up again, and then across, the house twisting and turning just as much as the path in the maze. When they reach the third staircase, Daehyun catches Junhong by the sleeve at his elbow, unable to handle the uncertainty anymore. “Where are you taking me? To -- to the monster?”

Junhong raises his eyebrows. “No. I’m taking you to your room.”

“My room?” Daehyun asks, dumbfounded.

“Did you think I’d just throw you to the dungeons where we keep the rest of the bones of the orphans sent up here?” At this, Junhong’s brow wrinkles in distaste and...sadness. But it is gone in a flash.

“Do you _have_ dungeons?” Daehyun asks, trying to lighten the atmosphere and unsure why he felt obligated to do so. By all rights, he should be terrified still, and worried for his life, but nothing he’s seen so far has aligned with what he imagined this experience would be.

“No,” Junhong says. “But we have a cellar that could suffice.”

“I’d...rather not,” Daehyun says with a weak smile.

Junhong blinks rapidly, as though stunned, but shakes it off. “You’ll have access to your room, and the kitchen and dining room. The baths, also. Basically, this entire side of the house. On the fourth floor, there’s a footbridge that leads to the other side of the house. Do not cross it.”

“What’s on the other side of the house?”

“The library,” Junhong says. “And my Master’s rooms.”

Junhong’s eyes flick towards his at the mention of his master. Daehyun wonders if this is the dreaded monster that holds the village in his claws. He files the information away.

“And where do you sleep?”

Junhong narrows his eyes at him. “My room is on the first floor, near the entrance. I will hear you if you try to leave.”

“That’s not why I was asking,” Daehyun mumbles under his breath, but Junhong has already turned away, walking up the stairs again.

.

Daehyun’s room is on the third floor, facing the east so that the sun filters in as it rises, filling the main bedroom with warm, golden light. He has a bed, and a desk, and a wardrobe filled with simple tunics and folded pants. He has a window that slides open to a view of the mountain range, the lush forest. Grimly, he wonders if anyone has taken the window as a way out. He pokes his head out and looks down, immediately dizzy from the sheer drop before him.

He’d never be able to do that.

Junhong had left with instructions for Daehyun to make himself comfortable -- to bathe and change and rest -- before he could join him for dinner in the dining room.

.


	4. the stranger

After dinner that first evening, Daehyun does not see Junhong for the next three days except in passing. The other boy always seems to be mucking around in the bamboo maze, or hanging off the terraces fixing up places where the wood holding the house together has grown weak. Attempts at conversation with Junhong fall flat, as he always finds a means to disappear -- around the corner, or up the stairs, or into a different room -- before Daehyun can ask him any questions. Clearly, he wants nothing to do with Daehyun. The brief spark of warmth at the gate had been a flare that quickly fizzled.

Meals are a silent, lonely affair, and always brought to his room by an invisible hand, left just outside the door. For the first three days, after exhausting exploring the limited rooms he has access to, Daehyun stares outside his window and reminisces about the village as he tries to catch whoever is leaving the meals for him. It's debilitatingly boring, and inevitably, his thoughts turn to Youngjae.

Mr. Yoo had taken him in when he was barely seven years old, and Youngjae had been six. Youngjae had been a snooty kid with apple-like cheeks, son of a rich merchant, and prone to ordering Daehyun around -- there always seemed to be toys to be fetched, chores to be done, and trouble to get into. Still, as an orphan with nowhere else to go but back to the street or to the orphanage (which was arguably worse), he’d borne Youngjae’s demanding nature in return for a roof over his head and three meals a day.

And besides, Youngjae hadn’t been unkind. It had often felt like many of their childish squabbles and games were part of an elaborate prank Youngjae was planning, and Youngjae had gradually allowed Daehyun to glimpse it, to be a part of it. To belong.

Not quite a member of the Yoo family and not quite a servant, Daehyun had functioned as Youngjae’s obligated companion for two years as Mr. Yoo attempted to figure out what he’d do with Daehyun. In the end, he’d been made a servant after all, and not a ward; Youngjae excelled at his studies and in music and in sparring, and Mr. Yoo had no need for a second son.

.

Daehyun was thirteen and awkwardly gangly, and Youngjae was twelve. After lessons, they were supposed to walk straight home, but Youngjae never wanted to do that. He liked to wander into the market and flash his white teeth in a cheeky grin to the ladies who operated the stalls bearing fruits and sweets. He liked being cooed and fawned over, pockets full of freely given sweets as Daehyun followed, torn between enjoying himself and carrying out his duties.

It was his job to make sure Youngjae attended to his studies, that he went home at a decent hour after lessons. But Youngjae wanted to play.

“Just a few more stalls,” Youngjae said. “Then maybe we can walk through the park on the way home.”

“Your father is expecting you soon, though,” Daehyun said worriedly as Youngjae took one of the sweets from his pocket to start nibbling on it. “If we go through the park, it’ll take much longer.”

“Stop being my servant for just a moment, Jung Daehyun,” Youngjae said. He stopped and turned to face Daehyun, his eyes bright and color high on his cheeks. “Just be my friend.”

“I _am_ your friend,” Daehyun argued. “I just don’t want your father to get angry with you.”

“He won’t get angry with me.”

“You’re right; he’ll get angry with _me_.”

At this, Youngjae grimaced. Cowed, he handed Daehyun one of other sweets in his pocket, and Daehyun took it, knowing it represented some sort of apology. He brought it to his mouth and tasted the burst of sugar and something nutty underneath. Youngjae said, “All right. Let’s go home.”

.

Daehyun wakes from his memory and dream to a soft scratching noise at his door. He’s left the window open, and the waxing moon shines bright, silver light into the space between his bed and his door, though the light is fading as the sun begins to crest over the horizon. Alert in an instant, Daehyun shifts to stand and pads as quietly as he can across the floor, moving quickly, curiosity piqued.

Perhaps that is his breakfast.

In moments he’s at his door. Breath held, he places his fingers against the bamboo frame, counting to three in his mind before flinging the door open --

To a tray containing a bowl of rice, clear soup still emitting steam, a mug of barley tea, and three small, fist-sized plates displaying various types of kimchi.

Daehyun is frowning down at the tray when he catches movement in the corner of his eye. He turns to look just as a covered ankle disappears beyond the corner. Stepping over the tray of breakfast, Daehyun follows, quietly at first, then giving up his stealth in favor of having some human connection after three days of loneliness.

“Wait!” he says, chasing after the stranger. The figure moves quickly, turning another corner, and this time Daehyun catches the swish of a long sleeve. “I just want to say hello,” Daehyun reasons. “I just want to meet the others who live here.”

Junhong made it seem like his master never left his side of the house, and yet the house is immaculately clean and cared for, and the food is always prompt and ready and delicious. It can’t possibly just be Junhong here, can it? Surely there are others. Daehyun follows, nearly running now, frustrated. Why won’t the other just stop?

He turns another corner, hoping to gain on the stranger, and collides into Junhong, his chest like a brick wall, and Daehyun’s nose and eyes prickle from the impact. He falls back.

“Ow…”

Junhong steadies him with his hands on Daehyun’s narrow shoulders. “What are you doing running around so early?" he asks, voice gravelly, like he'd just woken up himself. "Sleep-walking?”

Daehyun glares up at Junhong, one hand rubbing at his nose. “No -- I just. Wanted to thank the person leaving me my meals.”

Junhong stares, his lips forming a line. “ _I’m_ the person leaving you your meals.”

“No, you’re not,” Daehyun says. “I was following the person. I saw him. He didn’t look like you.”

“I’m the only other person who lives on this side of the house, Daehyun,” Junhong says with a pinched expression. His hands begin to rub Daehyun’s shoulders, a calming gesture, but it just makes Daehyun feel caged.

“No!” Daehyun nearly shouts. “I know I saw someone.” Junhong doesn’t argue this, but his eyes take on a pity Daehyun can’t discern or swallow. He wriggles out of Junhong’s grasp, hurt at being lied to, hurt from the isolation, hurt at his situation. “I don’t like being alone,” he admits, softer.

Then, with more force, “Or bored.”

Junhong sighs, turning Daehyun around and beginning to walk them back toward his room. “The boredom I might be able to help with,” Junhong says. “Is there anything I can bring you? More books?”

Daehyun nods. “I want books, and pens, and paper. Paints, if you have them.” Outside of Daehyun’s door, Junhong stoops to lift the tray of breakfast and steps over the threshold, placing the tray onto the table beside the bed with no noise. Daehyun pauses, considering. “And your company. I want your company, too.”

Junhong turns to give him a half-smile, just the upward tilt of one corner of his lips, impish. He crosses his arms in front of him, the sleeves of his tunic short and trimmed at his wrist. “Very well,” he says, the lights in his eyes dancing, that spark from the beginning back again. “Your wish is my command.”

.


	5. the thorn

Junhong brings books, pens, paper, and little colorful blocks of solid paint. He brings brushes when Daehyun asks, and stays in Daehyun’s room with him when Daehyun tells him not to leave, to keep him company. If it was always going to be so simple, Daehyun would have asked sooner.

Junhong doesn’t speak much when they are together, just lounges on the bamboo floor, all sharp knees and long legs, as Daehyun reads or paints. It’s no matter, because Daehyun talks enough for the two of them, and Junhong's silence is comforting, in a way. Daehyun's always been loquacious, but something about Junhong draws the words out of him more, one after another. Perhaps because he isn’t accustomed to many people listening, and Junhong is a great listener.

Youngjae listened to him. But usually, Daehyun didn’t have to say much around Youngjae. Youngjae just understood him without him needing to use words.

He sighs, pausing halfway through his brushstroke of pale, watery red on the thick paper Junhong brought him. Paint drips down from the fine tip of the brush, the droplet heavily pigmented like blood. He watches the wayward drop spread when it hits the still-drying brushstroke on top of the paper, and color blossoms along the path he’d created with his brush.

“What’s the matter?” Junhong asks, his voice close to Daehyun’s ear. He must have creeped up behind him when Daehyun was focusing on the painting before him: an amateur rendition of a rose. Daehyun sits cross-legged at a low table -- that he’d also asked Junhong to bring him, just the other day -- his sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

“It doesn’t look like a rose,” Daehyun says, pouting at his painting.

“Is that what it’s meant to be? I thought you were just painting your feelings.”

“I think I like you better when you don’t talk,” Daehyun shoots back, glaring.

Junhong smirks at him, the curl of his lips like a sly fox’s. “You could always just ask me not to speak.”

“Would that actually stop you from speaking?”

Junhong rolls his eyes. “Haven’t you figured it out?”

“Figured what out?”

The other boy groans, frustrated, and makes a ruckus as he clambers to stand. “I have some flowers to tend to,” he says. “ _Real_ ones.”

“Can you bring me another book from the library when you come back, then?” Daehyun asks over his shoulder. It’s been only a week and Daehyun has finished three books. One about a thief, one about a lonely spirit, and one about a prince. All of them about love. He reckons the master of such a library full of love stories must be rather romantic in real life, too, though this is at odds with the monthly sacrifices.

Though there’s something romantic and tragic about that, too, Daehyun supposes.

Junhong leaves through the sliding door of his room, closing it behind him with a soft thunk. Daehyun turns back to his painting. He used to enjoy it so much, when he was younger, when Youngjae sat in his lessons and Daehyun doodled to pass the time. He’s happy to pick it up again. It’s not that he has skill, but he’s satisfied that at least when he attempts to paint a flower, the painting looks like a flower. These paintings have gone up on the walls of his bare room, studies of peonies and the tiny, resilient wildflowers hanging onto hard rock outside of his window.

The rose is incomplete. For now, it’s just a lovely sort of red blob on the paper, with attempts at shading but no real definition. He sighs again, dipping his brush into the shallow dish of water before rolling the tip against the black ink block. He’ll add thorns, and then it’ll look like a rose.

A fleeting thought pushes its way to the forefront of his mind as he completes the painting: Will the flowers remain after he is gone?

.

Junhong brings Daehyun wildflowers to paint when he asks him to, new books, sticky homemade sweets made of rice flour and honey. Sometimes, he complains about complying with Daehyun’s wishes, but he always fulfills them. Eventually, Daehyun decides to push his luck.

“I want to go to the maze,” Daehyun asks Junhong nine days into his stay at the top of the mountain. His blood buzzes after being confined indoors for so long. “I want to go outside, Junhong,” he asks the other boy, who is standing at his door, his body filling up the frame. “Bring me outside.”

Junhong chews on his lip, and Daehyun wonders if he’s asked something impossible. If the house is really supposed to be a prison. His chest tightens as the silence between them draws out, stretched like a taut string.

But Junhong nods once, a brisk movement, and turns on his heel immediately. “All right,” he says. “Follow me.”

Bewildered, Daehyun scrambles to put away his paints, splashing water on his latest painting in the process, before chasing after Junhong. “I didn’t mean right now!” Daehyun calls down the hall, but Junhong doesn’t stop, and Daehyun doesn’t want to pass the chance up to feel the full force of the sun on his skin. “Wait!”

Junhong stops so abruptly that Daehyun, running, crashes right into him. Again.

“You’re hazardous,” Junhong comments, turning with a frown and rubbing the spot on his back where Daehyun’s forehead at collided.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Junhong says. “It gives you character. Are you ready to go, now?”

Daehyun nods, catching his breath and straightening. “Yes. Let’s go.”

.

The maze is just as Daehyun remembered it, the bamboo thick and tall. With Junhong’s sandals on his feet, he follows the servant down the same path they had walked to reach the house, and Daehyun contemplates running.

Perhaps he could lose Junhong in the bamboo. Daehyun is small enough to wind between the stalks, where Junhong might get stuck. He could disappear.

Just as instantly as the idea emerged, guilt replaces it.

“I’m very fast,” Junhong announces without preamble, and Daehyun wonders if he can read his thoughts, his mood dropping further at the reminder of his status here. “If you thought you could make a break for it.”

At their sides, the bamboo closes in and the path darkens. Daehyun follows Junhong closely, and suddenly the pressure of the last few days catches up to him, bubbling over and out of him. He stops in the middle of the path, fists against his sides, frightened and frustrated and sick of being so, of pretending with Junhong that he hasn't come up here to die.

“Why am I still here, Junhong?” he asks. “Why are you treating me so well? Why haven’t I seen any sign of -- the monster?”

Junhong stops, and around them, the wind picks up until it howls through the forest, and when it dies down, Daehyun can hear the chimes. “I wish you wouldn’t call him that,” Junhong says, finally. His arms are crossed when he turns to face Daehyun, and his expression is grim and tight.

“Call who that?”

“My master,” Junhong says. “The master of this house. I wish you wouldn’t call him a monster.”

“What would you call him, then?” Daehyun challenges, standing firm. “What would you call something who demands death every month to sate its appetite?”

Junhong’s expression wavers, and he lets his hands fall to his sides, digging his toes into the dirt. “Not everything is as it seems,” he mumbles. “Your comforts here are because of my master, you know.”

“Comforts,” Daehyun repeats. “Is that what you would call this?”

“I would call it -- an attempt. My master hates suffering.”

“Then why am I still here, suffering? Not knowing when the end will come, living with false hope -- isn’t that cruel?”

Junhong does not say anything for a long time, his eyes filling slowly with emotion, a darkness that looks like drowning. For a moment, Daehyun wishes he could take back what he said. Because he doesn’t know how much choice Junhong has in the matter, as the servant of such a monster. Because Junhong has borne witness to the deaths of dozens in his young life. Because Junhong, Daehyun thinks, strong and solid though he may be, is powerless to stop the inevitable.

And Daehyun decides then that the house will be his prison no longer.

He rolls his shoulders back, taking a deep breath before saying, “Show me where the library in the restricted wing of the house is.”

.


	6. the monster

Daehyun is panting as he follows Junhong up the third set of stairs, the many days of sitting idle and painting catching up to him quickly. The fourth floor is little more than a single room lined with papered windows on three sides, the fourth side a solid wall with double doors in the center.

“Are you sure you want me to take you to the library?” Junhong asks over his shoulder at Daehyun, who nods. “You wouldn’t rather I just bring you another book?”

“I don’t want another book,” Daehyun says. “I want to see the library.”

Junhong frowns, and they stop before the double doors. Here, the light is thin, making the sharp angles of Junhong’s face fill with shadow. Daehyun steps forward to be beside him as Junhong heaves a breath.

“I’m not going to run away,” Daehyun says slowly. “But I’m not going to sit by anymore, either, waiting for something horrible to happen. I’ve never been able to do that.”

“No,” Junhong says. “You don’t seem the type.”

He pushes the doors open, then, and they swing on their hinges with surprising ease. Junhong walks through the doorway with brisk, purposeful steps. Daehyun is quick to follow him out onto the fenced terrace, cupping a hand around his face to shield himself from the bright light of day. It seems, here, that they are closer to sun, like it shines here unfiltered and clear.

The doors swing shut without Junhong touching them, weighted. Daehyun follows the movement as they close and stifles a gasp when the latch clicks, sealing them together again.

On this side of the doors, he sees the wood is scarred, the green paint stripped in places where something has gouged out the wood. Long stripes of what look like huge claw marks mar the door, and the thought of the animal that did it running around on the property makes Daehyun’s heart flutter nervously in his chest.

“What did that?” Daehyun asks Junhong.

Junhong stands before the footbridge that stretches across the two peaks in the mountain. It is a short distance to cross, and the bridge is reinforced underneath by stabilizers of wood and stone. It is wide enough for three people across, with railings on either side and a steepled cover for protection from rain, and the house on the other side is just short of a stone’s throw away.

“A large animal,” Junhong says.

“Is it still here?”

Junhong turns and begins to cross the bridge. His voice is ambient when he replies, echoing in the chasm between peaks before it reaches Daehyun’s ears: “Oh yes. He is very much still here.”

.

Daehyun crosses the bridge carefully, but it is less of an obstacle that he imagined it would be, given his fear of heights. Still, he is noticeably less pale when they reach the other side and stable ground. His knees, however, feel like liquid, and he has to hold onto the rails for the moment to pass.

“Are you alright?” Junhong asks, hand leaving his side and hovering awkwardly at Daehyun’s shoulder. After a moment, he puts it down, chewing on his lip and stepping back to put some distance between them again.

“I’m not good with heights,” Daehyun admits. “Something about tempting fate.”

Junhong sends him a wry look, as though to remind Daehyun of where he is and what he’s doing, and Daehyun almost chuckles.

.

If Daehyun hadn’t known they had just crossed the bridge, he would have thought Junhong brought him back to the side of the house he was already familiar with. Everything about this side of the house is the same, from the braided mats to the lanterns to the paintings on the wall. Then they turn a corner in the hallway, and Daehyun sees the remains of a scrolled painting, now in tatters, three distinct tears parallel to each other crossing the scroll from one corner to the opposite.

Junhong does not point it out, but a shiver creeps up Daehyun’s spine as they begin to walk past it, and his breathing quickens. He steps closer to Junhong, nearly treading on the other boy’s heels.

The beast, he thinks.

The animal leaving these marks is the beast.

“Quickly,” Junhong hisses, and Daehyun realizes he had slowed to gaze closer at the ruined painting. It had been of roses in the foreground, mountains and the moon behind. He picks up the pace.

The library is just another turn on the same floor, a sudden burst of a room, like stepping into a kaleidoscope of books.

Books line the walls in shelves. Books lay on top of books on the shelves in layers. Books make uneven piles on tables scattered like islands in the room, between the shelves. Daehyun feels his mouth drop open, cranes his neck to look up at the shelves as they disappear into shadow, at least two stories tall.

“It’s huge,” Daehyun comments, appreciative.

“My master is fond of stories,” Junhong says quietly. “There -- I’ve shown you the library. Now, let’s go.”

“Go?” Daehyun repeats, clapping his hands together and forgetting for a moment who has brought him here. He’s never seen so many books in his life. When he studied with Youngjae, Youngjae only required a small collection of choice pieces of literature, and Daehyun had read all of those stories dozens of times over. “But there are so many books to uncover!”

“And I can bring them to you,” Junhong says, teetering on his toes and heels. “But later.”

“What is so awful about me being here?” Daehyun questions. “What does a monster want with so many wonderful books?”

“We must go,” Junhong says again, more forcefully this time, and when Daehyun only looks at him with a confused pout, Junhong takes hold of Daehyun’s wrist, dragging him. “Before anyone sees, we must--”

Someone interrupts then, with a voice so low it rumbles in the pit of Daehyun’s stomach.

“What. Is. This.”

Blood freezes in Daehyun's veins. Junhong, too, lowers his gaze and stills.

Blocking the way they came is a man. The first thing Daehyun notices is how beautiful he is, in the way an uncut diamond might be beautiful. Rough. His hair is a little too long to be stylish, though it suits him in a wild, dangerous sort of way. He is almost as tall as Junhong, though not as thick across the shoulders. He wears a plain white hanbok, foregoing slippers. His eyes, Daehyun thinks despite the rest of his appearance, despite the scowl on the stranger's full lips, are kind.

“I thought I was the only guest,” Daehyun blurts before Junhong has a chance to answer. “I wanted to explore, so I asked Junhong to bring me. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

The stranger looks at Daehyun, his eyes holding a brilliant, captivating gleam. “I am no guest,” he growls. He spins on his heels in a flash of white fabric, dismissing them with a twist of his wrist. Daehyun sees a flicker of skin there, catches images in dark ink on the man’s forearm. The stranger says, “You will never ask Junhong to bring you here again. Junhong, take him away.”

He stalks off, Daehyun tempted to follow, but he is stilled by Junhong’s hand on his shoulder.

“Who was that?” Daehyun asks. “Why was he here?”

“That,” Junhong says, “was my master, Bang Yongguk.”

. 


	7. the dream

Bang Yongguk, Daehyun mouths to himself that night in bed, lips forming around the name smoothly. It rolls off the tongue. The master of the estate’s attitude, however, did not. He is still smarting from the brusque way he’d been spoken to, and the harsh dismissal. It seems as though Bang Yongguk is not the kind of person who is easy to get along with, which makes Daehyun curious about what the circumstances are that keep Junhong with his master, especially given his master’s other...activities.

It is a strange matter to have a face to go along with all the horrible things happening at the estate. On the one hand, Daehyun finally has a tangible image he can direct his anger toward; on the other, the murdering monster is now human. Worse still, he is a human who has an air of sadness around him, of regret and guilt.

After their introduction, Junhong had nearly picked Daehyun up and carried him back to the other side of the house, where he proceeded to shuttle Daehyun to his room and ignore Daehyun’s questions about the other man.

They float around in circles in Daehyun’s head, now, those questions, and make it impossible for him to sleep as the waxing moon shines through the slats of the papered windows. Earlier, when Daehyun asked Junhong about the monster, Junhong told him he wished Daehyun wouldn’t call his master that. Is Bang Yongguk, the master, also the beast? How can that be? There had to be some larger animal locked away in the estate, the beast the villagers spoke in hushed tones about, the beast that left those horrible marks on the door and on the painting.

Right?

Daehyun pulls the covers up to his chin, mind turning the thought over and over as the shadows around his room take on a sinister appearance. Back when he’d studied with Youngjae, there had been a story they read together -- a myth -- about a man who could change his shape and take on animal forms. That man had been given this gift by a god, powerful and vengeful, who ultimately took the power away from the mortal when the mortal began to abuse it. The story had been a lesson in hubris and humanity. Is Yongguk like this man from the stories he’d read as a child?

But aren’t those stories just that -- stories?

Daehyun turns onto his side, chiding himself for such a silly thought, but on his side, his eyes catch how the shadows in his room seem to elongate and stretch, like dark fingers reaching toward him.

He squeezes his eyes shut and turns to face the wall instead.

.

_The light from the moon was silvery and thin and illuminated a halo around everything in the library. Daehyun walked around the tables and shelves and touched the leather covers of the books with gentle fingers. They were soft and well-cared for. Loved._

_He turned to face one shelf and felt a tug in his chest. His fingers sought out a book high up on the shelf, so high he had to stand on his toes to reach it. When it fell into his hands, he allowed himself a satisfied smile._

_The title of the book seemed to form before his eyes, the letters swirling into place: The Curse._

_He made to open the book, but a low growl that seemed to rattle the bones in his chest made him drop it instead in surprise. It landed with a heavy thump, thick with pages._

_Slowly, he turned to look at what had made the noise._

_At the entrance of the library was a giant wolf, one that seemed to fill up the entire doorway, his fur so black it swallowed light. His eyes though, were a soft, gentle, and familiar brown._

_“Yongguk-sshi?” Daehyun said in a voice barely above a whisper, frozen before the shelf, unsure if he was calling to the animal or for help. He was afraid that if he moved, the giant wolf would lunge for him. An animal of that size would undoubtedly crush him in a single blow._

_Again the wolf growled, his upper lip curling in a distinctly human expression._

_“I know you didn’t want me to come back to the library,” Daehyun said in an effort to appeal to the beast, “but I couldn’t help myself. There are so many stories here.” The thought of these stories loosened his joints, and he allowed himself to move, to bend down to take the book that had fallen into hand. “Like this one,” he continued, opening the book finally._

_Again, the beast growled, this time louder, and closer, and the sound made all the little hairs on the back of Daehyun’s neck stand. He looked down at the book in his hands._

_The pages were empty._

_He flipped through the book from front to back, from back to front. Nothing was written inside._

_“That’s odd,” Daehyun mused aloud, closing the book and reaching up high to place it back on the shelf. When the book slid in, he turned again to look for the wolf, but the wolf was gone. “How odd,” Daehyun said again to himself._

_The library was quiet, and the moon was high in the sky. He should go back to his room, to sleep. Maybe in the morning, he’d ask Junhong about the wolf._

_As soon as Daehyun stepped toward the entrance to the library, he felt a pair of arms encircle his waist. Then they latched on tight. Tight enough that he could feel his lungs press against his own ribs, constricting his flow of air. Panicking, he kicked his feet and thrashed, but whoever was holding him was strong. Immovable._

_“Let me go!” he cried out helplessly, as the man dragged him deeper into the library, which had grown in size, a room that kept expanding, the way out moving farther and farther away until it was nothing but a speck in the distance. “Let me out!”_

_“You can’t leave,” the man holding him said, his voice like a rumble of thunder. “You can’t leave me.”_

_Daehyun looked behind him and into the face of Bang Yongguk._

.

He wakes with a start, out of breath and gulping air, hair matted against his forehead with sweat. He throws the covers off of himself. They are suffocating him. On the little nightstand beside the bed is a glass of water that had not been there the night before.

That someone had come into his room and left it without his knowing chills him. He leaves it untouched and stands, pacing inside the small quarters of his room to ease the frantic beating of his heart.

.


	8. the library

Daehyun does not ask Junhong to take him to the library again, after that.

He goes himself.

It’s quite easy -- after the incident in the library, Junhong steers clear of Daehyun the next morning. His meal appears by the door mysteriously, seemingly when his back is turned, the sound of soft footsteps fading into the distance. By the time Daehyun reaches his door to investigate, there isn’t even the trace of someone turning the corner. His dream sits heavy in his mind, and the feelings that came with it he can’t decipher.

He’s never felt such immeasurable sadness and guilt before, so acute that when he imagines the face of Bang Yongguk as he saw him in his dream his heart actually clenches inside of his chest.

He pushes away thoughts of wolves and men and wolves who can become men. Thoughts of the monster at the top of the mountain. These are myths. There has to be another answer, and now his curiosity is piqued, given little else to focus on.

When he believed -- as the whole village believes -- that the mountain was guarded by some insatiable monster, it was easy to be scared. No one going up the mountain had ever come back down to tell a different tale. The mountain itself was monstrous. If a man is behind all the deaths...

Yongguk is the mystery, the face behind all the death and grief in the village; he is flesh and blood and _heart_. A monster has no heart, but a man can be swayed. He can be understood. Yongguk is here, and Daehyun is going to know him. To speak to him.

The way to the library had not been guarded. He’d slipped up to the fourth floor and to the great doors without running into Junhong, the afternoon sun chasing his shadows. He’d sent a prayer up to his ancestors and whatever gods were listening when he stopped in front of the double doors, remembering how they were mauled on the other side. Hoped he wouldn't run into a beast on the other side.

With a mighty heave, he’d pushed them open, then panicked as they swung shut, weighted and heavy. He’d only just managed to catch the edge of both doors before they banged into each other and no doubt would have alerted Junhong and anyone else listening to his location, very nearly losing his fingers in the process.

Biting back a pained scream, he’d let the doors fall shut quietly, the latch catching.

He’d crossed the footbridge, let himself into the unexplored part of the estate, and found the library.

And now he is here, standing before the tall shelves, wondering why on earth he thought it would be a good idea to crawl out of the lion’s den and into its mouth. Maybe all of that time spent alone in his room here has compromised his ability to function on a higher level.

Oh, but there are many books. So many _stories_. The shelves stretch above him, filled to the brim. Someone has attempted to put away some of the stacks that had been left on the tables last night, and in the short time he’s left it the library feels like it has already changed shape.

Libraries are like that: dynamic, living places, despite what Youngjae always says about books being boring and stiff.

His breath catches at the thought of Youngjae, his dear friend. He hadn’t even had the chance to say good-bye, whisked away so early in the morning when Master Yoo woke him to tell him the Council was there for him. There had been no time to think or react, just comply, and now he wonders if he could have just taken the few precious moments he’d been afforded to change into the clothes the Council had provided him to visit Youngjae in his room. To let him know he’d be going, and that he loved him.

Daehyun feels his lower lip tremble and his eyes grow heavy. He hadn’t let himself think deeply about Youngjae since he arrived at the estate. Kept himself busy, numbed himself with stories and painting and pestering Junhong with questions and conversation. Now, the wall he’d built to keep out such thoughts trembles in his mind. The thoughts and memories pile behind it, vicious, pleading for his attention.

To distract himself, he nears a bookshelf and pulls a book from it at random and flips it open in his hands. The words blur as he tries to read. Something about how sunlight can be broken down into particles of energy. He puts it back in the shelf and pulls out another.

This one is a story. He skims the first few pages before wet drops of his tears stain the pages, one after another and rolling down his cheeks.

He didn’t have the chance to say good-bye. He hadn’t seen Youngjae before he left. He will die up here, and Youngjae will never hold him ever again, and he thinks he can understand a monster's heart.

The book slams shut and he just barely manages not to throw it against the shelf as he pushes it back into place. Still, it is a struggle, the book seeming to fight back. With a frustrated cry and wet cheeks, he shoves the book home.

“What are you doing in here.”

A shiver runs up Daehyun’s spine. The words are less a question and more a disappointed observation. He turns. Yongguk stands in the doorway to the library, dressed in the same white hanbok, foregoing slippers, his hair a nest of black tangles. His lips are a tight, thin line and his eyes are sharp and glint red in the sun.

Daehyun gasps.

“I told you not to come back here,” Yongguk growls.

“You told me not to ask Junhong to bring me,” Daehyun snaps, emotions warring with each other. He feels his cheeks heat in embarrassment and anger.

“You are intruding,” Yongguk says.

Daehyun’s fists clench tight by his sides. “ _You_ are the one who wanted me here.”

At this, Yongguk blinks, and his eyes are soft brown again, the snarl in his upper lip disappearing. He doesn’t say anything for a moment as Daehyun breathes and takes control over his tears. “You were crying. I didn’t want _you_ here,” Yongguk says, as though realizing for the first time who stands before him.

Daehyun feels his anger prickle. “Yes,” he says, “because any villager would do, right?”

A man or a monster, Daehyun reminds himself. He isn’t doing a very good job of understanding.

“I--” Yongguk begins, before shaking his head and taking a step back. “Just get out,” he says. He retreats, head ducked, before Daehyun can gather his wits to say something in return.

.

Junhong stops ignoring Daehyun that evening, coming by his room almost sheepishly with their dinner meals on trays. When he sits on the floor, Daehyun joins him, some of the weight lifting from his heart at seeing his friend.

He hadn’t even realized he’d missed Junhong for the couple of hours they’d been apart until now, seeing the small pout on Junhong’s lips.

“What’s wrong?” Daehyun asks, crossing his legs on the floor. It’s a light dinner tonight of rice and a grilled fillet of fish, a small plate of steamed vegetables on the side.

“You went to the library,” Junhong says, sitting back on his hands in a more casual position than Daehyun has ever seen him in. “You weren’t supposed to go back.”

Daehyun shrugs. “I wanted another book, and you weren’t around.”

Junhong scowls, working through Daehyun's answer. “You wanted to see him again,” he says. “Why?”

Daehyun shovels a convenient pile of rice into his mouth and chews deliberately as Junhong quirks an eyebrow at him. When he is done, he takes another large bite and chews more slowly.

Junhong sighs. “You are different from the others,” he says. “You’re not scared.”

Junhong is wrong; Daehyun is scared. He’s terrified. He doesn’t feel the need to correct Junhong’s assumption. Finally, he says, “I’m curious.”

The other boy nods slowly and begins to eat his meal as well. They are both nearly finished when he says, “I wonder if that is a good thing.”

.


	9. the library, part ii

The second time Daehyun sneaks to the library, he goes in the morning before he thinks Junhong will have a chance to catch him and stop him. The sky is still colorless, the light grey and hazy, and no meal waits for him outside of his bedroom door.

Thoughts of Yongguk had weighed on him all night, coupled with flashes of the same dream he’d had before about the empty book in the library, and then interlaced with memories of the story he’d read with Youngjae about men who could change their shapes. He’s drawn to that story, for some reason, and wishes he could remember more of it. If only he’d paid attention during Youngjae’s lessons.

He is drawn to Yongguk, too, he realizes, the way the ocean is drawn to the moon. The man who would be a monster.

Or perhaps a sort of mountain sickness has taken him over from living at this altitude and in what basically amounts to isolation, and this is why he is seeking out that which would destroy him. Or perhaps Daehyun has already accepted the forfeit of his life, and this is why he is so keen on understanding a murderer. Perhaps he believes if he can understand Yongguk, he can prevent more orphans from suffering this horrible fate. If he can get under Yongguk’s skin...

It’s not as though he has much to lose.

The library is still. He had not expected anything different. He wanders to the tables and runs his fingers over the leather covers and bindings before thinking about pushing his luck and exploring the rest of this wing of the estate. Yongguk has let him off with warnings twice; would he be so lenient if he found Daehyun in another part of the forbidden wing?

When he’d lived with the Yoo’s, no part of the large house had been forbidden to him except for Mr. Yoo’s bedroom, which Daehyun had no desire to enter, anyway. He could roam freely in the kitchens and in the library, and whenever Youngjae needed to find him he could almost always do so by heading to the nook by the staircase on the third floor, where Daehyun would be reading or drawing or daydreaming.

When he wasn’t doing those things, he was putting his nose into things he had no business putting his nose into. He wanted to know where the cooks got their rice flour, and which vendors had the best roasted chestnuts to offer. He wanted to know which books Youngjae’s mother was reading, and which tailor she’d gone to for her latest hanbok, and if the trends were the same in the village as they were in Seoul.

Growing up in Youngjae’s household, often the only way to keep Daehyun occupied and to keep his fingers out of the honey pot was for the head maid to have him lay his head on her knee as she told him story after story, answering question after question of his.

Once, Youngjae’s friend Himchan had told him it was because he knew so little of his early years that he craved for so much, now. Youngjae had punched Himchan in the nose for that, and Daehyun had been unable to keep the smug grin from his face, after.

That was years ago, though. Himchan’s sharper, brattier points had melted away as he came of age, and Youngjae grew more charming and handsome.

Daehyun supposes he grew, too, but what does it matter how he grew, now that he is here on top of the mountain?

The sun begins to break through the layer of clouds in the sky, and the light shifts from silvery-grey to a warm yellow, and Daehyun wanders deeper into the library, struck by how the sunbeams reflect off the surfaces of the scrolls and bindings, making it look as though the books are covered in jewels. Books are much easier to come by nowadays, but they are still a luxury, especially ones as finely crafted as the ones he sees.

Thoughts of exploring the other parts of the forbidden wing dissolve in his mind as he nears one shelf and scans the titles. Histories of the nation and of the warring tribes before it line this case. He moves to another and finds books on medicine and biology. Another case carries books related to the natural world; another, fiction. He lingers at this last one, wondering if he should carry out another book for him to read for when he returns to his bedroom.

He scoffs at himself at the thought. Has he grown so comfortable here, to think of the place as truly his own home?

He walks the circumference of the library and explores some of the tables scattered throughout, also, before coming across a shelf boasting familiar titles.

_The Gumiho._

_Sirumal_.

 _Chasa Bonpuli_.

Creation stories and myths. Stories that are passed down from generation to generation through song and dance. Stories about magic and curses and tricky gods. He pulls _Chasa Bonpuli_ from the shelf and lets it drop into his hands, heavy and dense. The leather is a deep mahogany, but the binding is worn. He brings it carefully to a table near the center of the library, pushing a stack of scrolls to the side to make room for it, and lets it fall open naturally to any page.

 _Chasa Bonpuli_ is about death, he reads. About a mortal man who is chosen to become the reaper, to guide souls to the underworld.

A chill travels up his spine as he reads about the god of death and his duties, imagining souls of the dead sinking their claws into his calves and dragging him down to hell.

“I told you not to come back.”

Daehyun yelps, closing the book quickly with a loud snap and looking up at his intruder.

Yongguk stands at the entrance of the library, his hanbok on but disheveled, his hair wilder than before. Dark circles under Yongguk's eyes make it feel to Daehyun that he may as well be looking at a skull. The older man growls, and Daehyun takes an involuntary step back, leaving the book on the table.

Yongguk steps forward, closing the distance between them quickly until just the table is separating them, and glances down at the book cover.

“You’re reading this?” he asks with a grunt. "It isn't light reading."

Daehyun stills, confused. Yongguk may be a little wild-looking, but his interactions so far this morning are almost...soft. “Um,” Daehyun begins hesitantly, reminding himself of why he came back to the library in the first place. “It looked interesting, is all.”

“You do not have permission to read it,” Yongguk says next, and Daehyun feels his stomach drop as Yongguk’s expression shifts. It is not quite anger on his face, but a resigned and muted disappointment. “You need to leave.”

“Why?” Daehyun shoots back quickly, crossing his arms in front of him. Yongguk, in his loose hanbok and with his wild hair and distant, slow expressions, doesn’t scare him today. “What’s the point of having a library if everything in it collects dust?”

“It is not _your_ library,” Yongguk growls. “It is mine.”

“And aren’t I your guest?” Daehyun argues, knowing the point he is making is a weak one. He might be a guest, certainly, though the end he will likely meet is the opposite of hospitable.

Yongguk seems to catch onto this quickly. His lips curl up into a cruel smile, and he chuckles. “Guest?” he asks. “You are a hostage. A prisoner. The village has disposed of you. _To me._ ”

Daehyun holds his breath high in his lungs before remembering to exhale, and tightens his arms around his body. He presses on, remembering something Junhong had said on his first day at the estate. “Junhong said you wished to make me comfortable. The library makes me comfortable.”

“I do not care if you are comfortable,” Yongguk snaps. “You will die at the end of the month.”

The air stills between them, and Daehyun can’t breathe. It is the first time his fate has been mentioned so concretely in his time up here. The first time it has been confirmed. He can’t keep the tremble out of his voice when he responds. “I -- I only want to spend a little of my time here. I like stories, and you have so many.”

It is not the most convincing argument he’s ever made, but he can’t find it in himself to say more. His throat feels blocked up, and suddenly tears are spilling over his cheeks. He sniffs and wipes them away, angry at himself for the weak display.

Yongguk stares, his lips pressed together in a thin line. He runs both hands through his wild hair and manages to tame it a little, brushing coarsely through the strands. He looks to the floor, seeming to contemplate it thoroughly. After just long enough for Daehyun to feel a need to fidget in his legs, Yongguk looks up again. His eyes are not quite so dead when he meets Daehyun’s eyes quickly before looking away and mumbling in the direction of one of the shelves, “Mornings only.”

It takes a moment for Daehyun to understand. “What?” He wipes at his cheeks and face again with his sleeve, the fabric darkening as it soaks up the wet trails there. “What did you say?”

“You may come to the library in the mornings,” Yongguk says, only a slight interval louder than before, his face an expression of self-doubt, eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed. “But that is all.” A pause. Then, decisively, Yongguk takes the book Daehyun had been reading on the table and holds it close to his own chest. “And do not slam the books shut like that ever again,” he says, nostrils flaring.

He leaves with the book and with a swirl of white fabric, his footsteps fading in the distance. Daehyun lets himself collapse onto the table, catching himself on his hands and exhaling slowly, his skin tingling all over.

.


	10. the heart, part i

At the two week mark, Daehyun has visited the library a little over a dozen times, voraciously reading to pass the hours and squeezing every drop of morning sunlight he can out of the day in the library. Sometimes, traces of Yongguk have been left from the night before -- a cold cup of tea, a scroll with ink still drying on it. These things Daehyun discovers strike him as convincingly human, and only feeds into his curiosity about the other man.

If he were truly a monster, he couldn’t do anything so civilized as drink tea, could he? Sure, Yongguk seemed gruff and like he’d rather communicate with a series of grunts than with actual words, but he walked on two legs and read books and wrote in neat, tiny script on the scrolls Daehyun tidied up for him.

He’s been reading everything he could find in Yongguk’s library on shapeshifters and skinwalkers, though the library provides surprisingly little. As though Yongguk already knows everything he needs to know on the subject. Thinking about Daehyun’s dreams and Yongguk’s strange mannerisms and the stories surrounding the mountain, Daehyun has started to view Yongguk through the myth of a shapeshifter.

It fits -- the story of the monster, the monthly ritual, Yongguk’s human appearance -- but then Daehyun will have a moment of doubt and laugh about his own wild and certainly incorrect scholarship. It must be the mountain air.

Mostly, Yongguk and Daehyun avoid each other and Daehyun finds some comfort is speaking with Junhong in the afternoons and early evenings, accustomed now to spending nights alone. He’ll lose himself staring out of his window over the sheer drop of the cliff and at the stars. Here at the top of the mountain, they seem so much closer and brighter.

There is beauty at this estate, despite the gloominess around it.

Daehyun almost forgets that every villager who has made the journey up here never returned, that at the end of another two weeks, he will likely be dead.

.

They run into each other for the first time since Yongguk gave Daehyun permission to enter the library in the morning on a cloudy day. The sun is weak streaming in through the windows, and Daehyun isn’t paying attention, battling a restless night full of dreams. He doesn’t notice until he is nearly toe-to-toe with Yongguk that they are in each other’s direct paths.

“Oh,” he says, looking up from his feet. “Excuse me.”

Yongguk grunts and says nothing, brushing past Daehyun without so much as a glance.

“No need to be rude,” Daehyun calls after him, careless and too familiar. It’s something he would have said to Youngjae. He stills after, admonishing himself for risking his own neck.

Yongguk stills too, for just a breath, before continuing along his path and disappearing around a corner.

That day he reads a story about a prince and his quest to save his bride-to-be from the clutches of a greedy dragon. In the end, the princess is the one who saves the prince and the dragon both.

.

He wakes up in the library and panics. The sun is setting; he can tell by the long shadows on the floor. There is a line of drool down his chin that thankfully ends there and does not bleed out over the book he was reading and sleeping upon.

In his panic, a familiar smell greets him and calms him -- something floral and slightly fruity. A light, clean scent. Daehyun sniffs it out and spots a cup of steaming tea to his left, just within reach. He raises his head and glances around the library. Is Yongguk here? But there is no one else in sight. Only the tea, and the books, and Daehyun.

He takes the tea and sips. It has cooled to the perfect temperature.

He puts the book that he was reading away and leaves the library, crossing the footbridge and going back to his room, bringing the cup of tea with him.

.

“What was the story today about?” Junhong asks him that afternoon, lounging in Daehyun’s room. Sometimes, Junhong brings an extra scroll and brush and writes awful poetry for Daehyun to recite or sing.

“Hm,” Daehyun says. “A dragon.”

“And?”

“A prince.”

“What happened to the dragon?”

“He was under a curse,” Daehyun explains. “He’d been cursed all along. The princess helped him break the curse.”

“Master has many stories like that,” Junhong says, painting a long dragon on his scroll. He draws spikes along the dragon’s back, but paints a frown on its face. It’s childlike and endearing, and Daehyun could paint much better, but doesn’t say so. “It’s his favorite story.”

.

Yongguk and Daehyun run into each other again on a sunny day with skies so clear Daehyun swears he could see the next town over when he looked out of his window that morning. The air is crisp and clean, and Junhong had put out a new set of clothes for Daehyun to wear before he awoke. He doesn’t notice Yongguk in his path this time because his nose is buried in a book as he’s walking, one that he almost couldn’t put down the other night. This time, the story is about a wolf.

He senses someone near before he sees them. One foot in front of the other. When he looks up, it’s too late. He runs right into Yongguk’s shoulder, the book in his hands toppling to the floor. He cries out -- for the book more than for his own body -- as he watches the book thud once on its binding before falling flat.

“Excuse me!” he exclaims, going straight to his knees to pick up what has fallen in order to examining the fragile binding of the book. He finds company on the floor as Yongguk kneels as well.

Yongguk’s long-fingered hands grasp the book first, handing it to him. Daehyun takes it, but Yongguk doesn't let go at first, holding it firm. “I,” the older man begins in a low, little-used voice. It’s scratchy but full, and Daehyun looks up again, searching for Yongguk’s eyes. “I should have watched where I was going,” Yongguk finishes finally, a hint of color on his cheeks.

He stands without another word and strides away before Daehyun can process what has happened.

The book feels warm in his hands.

.


	11. the heart, part ii

Daehyun dreams of the forest at night, of the twisting limbs of trees and unfamiliar sounds. Red eyes follow him as he walks up the never-ending trail to the estate, to the monster’s manor, but when he turns to investigate the eyes blink and disappear. He shivers in his thin clothes. His feet are bleeding and bare. “Who’s there?” he calls, only for his own voice to return to him in an echo.

_“Who’s there?”_

He continues to climb. The distance to the estate never shortens. In fact, every step seems to carry him farther away. His legs are starting to ache. He plows on through a sense of duty, and responsibility, and grits his teeth when the needles of the forest floor dig into his skin.

Suddenly he feels a presence beside him. He turns.

It’s Youngjae.

Daehyun’s heart twists in his chest at Youngjae’s familiar features, his dark mop of hair and eyes full of mischief. “Don’t worry,” Youngjae says. “He doesn’t breathe fire.”

“Youngjae--” Daehyun starts, reaching for him, but the other boy fades away and Daehyun’s fingers touch only mist. “Youngjae!”

But he’s gone. Daehyun runs off the path to follow him and steps into a room. It forms as he walks. It is both familiar and unfamiliar as it takes shape. Scrolls of beautiful calligraphy and artwork covering the walls, dark polished wood and mats made of bamboo around a low table. He sees a man, his figure hunched as he sits cross-legged on the floor, his back to Daehyun. His shoulders are shaking. The paintings on the walls change to amateur ones of flowers: roses and tiny resilient wildflowers found in the cracks of hard rock. Daehyun’s paintings.

He hears crying, low and wounded, and realizes it’s coming from the man.

“Hey,” Daehyun says, forgetting Youngjae. “Are you okay?”

The man doesn’t answer. He’s curled around something in his lap. Daehyun walks closer, curious and sympathetic. The something in the man’s lap has feet, and ankles, and knees, and legs. A waist. Daehyun comes around and taps the man on the shoulder, and Yongguk raises his face.

His eyes are red like dying embers.

“Are you okay?” Daehyun asks, though his breath catches in sudden fear.

Yongguk reveals the boy in his lap.

It’s Daehyun himself. He could be sleeping, his face peaceful, except for the bloody, gaping hole in his chest. Yongguk says, tears rolling down his face as he licks his lips, “I tore out his heart and ate it.”

Daehyun screams.

He wakes up screaming, his heart leaping in his chest like a rabbit, sweat matting his hair to his forehead. He throws the blankets off of his body but then shivers violently at the sudden cold as a gust of wind blows through the window, making the paintings on his wall flutter.

Daehyun stands on shaky legs and walks to the window, trying to slide it shut. It stick a little, and he looks out into the night sky where the moon is a little over half-full, fattening, a ripening fruit waiting to fall.

.

Daehyun doesn’t make it to the library in the morning, his eyes heavy from lack of sleep and his thoughts scattered. Sometime in the mid-morning, Junhong comes by his room, and sits with him as Daehyun naps in short bursts.

When it is time for the mid-day meal, Daehyun finally rouses from bed, fingers brushing through his wild nest of hair on his head in an attempt to tame it. Junhong laughs and tells him he doesn’t have to worry about appearances around him. Junhong steps out as Daehyun washes, returning with a large tray full of small side dishes, two bowls of rice, and two cups of tea.

They sit across from each other at the low table and eat quietly.

“Hyung,” Junhong says, when Daehyun is halfway through his bowl of rice. His voice is jarring to the cloud of peaceful silence that had descended over them. “What’s wrong?”

Daehyun looks at him over the rim of the bowl, the urge to purse his lips and scowl strong. Everything is wrong, he wants to say. But he only puts the bowl down and asks, “Why do you serve Yongguk, Junhong?”

Junhong’s eyes widen and his mouth opens and closes a few times without any words coming out. He says, finally, with a twist to his lips, “I’m cursed.”

Daehyun gasps, and his mind supplies images from his dreams and from the stories he’s read in Yongguk’s library.

Then Junhong smirks and says, “Is that what you wanted to hear?”

This time Daehyun does scowl. He shovels more rice into his mouth and tops the bite off with some braised tofu. “I don’t really think you’re joking,” Daehyun says, just to gauge Junhong’s reaction.

The smirk on Junhong’s face remains, serene. He says, “Yongguk-hyung treats me well.”

“But he’s killed--”

“So many people? He has,” Junhong confirms, nodding. “There’s no point in hiding that. But it’s -- well, it’s hard to explain.” His eyes dart to the door and back, as though he’s afraid someone might overhear.

“I don’t think it’s that hard to explain,” Daehyun says stubbornly, stabbing his next bite of tofu onto his chopsticks. “He’s a murderer. And you’re here, serving him. _Helping_ him.”

Junhong frowns, his broad shoulders hunching. “It isn’t like that.”

“It sure is.”

“He’s getting better,” Junhong says. “Every month. There’s a little -- every month it’s a little better.”

“What’s better?” Daehyun presses, but Junhong presses his lips together tightly, his eyes still too wide. He’s done talking about this. Daehyun sighs, thinking of the story of the dragon and the princess and the prince, one of Yongguk's favorite stories, according to Junhong. He wonders if Yongguk considers himself the dragon, and what that makes Daehyun and all the other orphans who came before him. What does that make Junhong?

“I think I know the secret,” Daehyun says, “even though it’s so hard to believe.”

Junhong doesn't say anything for a moment, though his fingers holding his chopsticks turn white at the knuckles. He whispers, “So help him,” and then pretends not to have said it. The rest of the meal passes by in silence.

.

Restless after Junhong leaves him and sitting on a tumult of information from Junhong and the stories and feelings from his dreams, Daehyun goes to the library in search of Yongguk and answers. It's starting to feel like every day that passes is another race that Daehyun has lost. The sun is starting its descent. It is long past his allowed time to visit the library in the morning, but Daehyun doesn’t care. The dream haunts him at the edges of his mind, threatening to creep in. He has nothing to lose, really, and the more he learns about Yongguk, the more Yongguk seems to be shrouded in mystery.

Who is this man who can kill and yet treat Junhong fairly and perhaps even with kindness? This man who isn’t able to carry on a conversation longer than a few words but leaves Daehyun tea when he overstays his time in the library? Who cares for stories and books and art so much he lives in an oasis at the top of a mountain, surrounded by these things?

Daehyun is not quiet when he crosses the footbridge between the two wings of the house and stomps through the doors. He feels his blood hot and thin inside of him, traveling through a heart beating too quickly, his fists clenched tight at his sides.

Yongguk is sitting at a table in the library, bent over a book, his cheek pillowed in his hand. The image of him is sharp and soft all at once. A killer at peace, Daehyun thinks.

“Why did you do it?” he asks.

Yongguk straightens, his eyes narrowed as he spots Daehyun in the doorway. His hair is long and tangled. “What are you doing here?” he asks gruffly, standing so quickly the chair he’s sitting in upends and crashes to the floor.

“Why did you do it?” Daehyun asks again, striding forward. “Why did you kill all the other orphans? I have to know -- do you enjoy it?”

Yongguk seems to wince before anger takes over his features. He meets Daehyun in the middle, hands coming around Daehyun’s upper arms and pushing him back.  He growls, “You can’t be here.”

“Why? Going to kill me, too? It’s too soon, though, Yongguk,” Daehyun says, the fight burning just under his skin. He wants to see it -- Yongguk at his worst -- to remind himself that Yongguk doesn't deserve his sympathy, his curiosity. “It’s not the full moon yet.”

Yongguk’s face freezes in a snarl. He pushes Daehyun back again, and again. Daehyun feels the cold mountain air snap across his skin, and he realizes Yongguk has guided them both back outside, to where the deck is before the footbridge. He gasps when Yongguk pushes him against the rail.

“You don’t know anything!” Yongguk roars, his weight bearing down on Daehyun. The railing digs into Daehyun’s back painfully, and wind whistles past his ears.

“I know you have a lot of books about shapeshifters in your library!” Daehyun shouts back. He glances behind him at the long fall, the jagged rock disappearing into a layer of low-hanging clouds, and feels his pulse quickening. His blood is still too thin. “I know there’s a curse.”

Yongguk does not let up, and Daehyun swears he hears the railing creak.

“Let me go!” he shrieks. “We’ll fall!”

“No,” Yongguk says, “ _you_ will.”

For a heart-stopping moment, Daehyun thinks Yongguk is going to push him over the edge. He sees the thought cross Yongguk’s mind, in the hard, cloudy darkness of his eyes. But then Yongguk takes a breath, and the cloudiness disappears, and Yongguk shakes his head, stepping back, and finally Daehyun can breathe again.

Daehyun sinks to the ground, hugging the railing, his knees feeling like jelly. He breathes in deep, closing his eyes, hearing his own heartbeat in his ears. The fight under his skin has burned away completely.

“I--” Yongguk begins, hesitant.

“Don’t apologize,” Daehyun barks.

“That was out of line,” Yongguk says instead. “I lost my temper.”

“Clearly,” Daehyun sniffs. He can’t stand just yet. The ground is a nice feeling, anyway.

Yongguk kicks at the ground with his bare feet, his white clothing mussed from their pushing and shoving. He straightens it. “I don’t know how to behave around you,” he says.

“Maybe,” Daehyun says, opening his eyes finally to glare up at Yongguk, “you could try to behave like a human.” Yongguk winces again, and it cracks the shell around Daehyun just a little bit. “You could try to be nice,” Daehyun suggests.

Yongguk stares at him with a look of such utter confusion that Daehyun laughs. It’s probably because Daehyun's still a little lightheaded, his blood still a little too thin. When Yongguk’s forehead relaxes and the lines around his eyes disappear he looks much younger, and kinder. Daehyun quiets, taking in Yongguk's lingering confusion.

He holds out his hand. “You could help me up,” he says quietly.

It takes a moment, Yongguk looking at the hand Daehyun is offering and considering it in the way one might consider touching a snake. Daehyun wiggles his fingers, encouraging and adamant, and Yongguk reaches out to hold it.

Yongguk’s fingers are warm, surprisingly soft. He helps Daehyun up, pulling him to his feet. He grunts when Daehyun sways and knocks into his chest, straightening Daehyun with his steady hands.

“There,” Daehyun says, “that wasn't so bad, was it?”

Yongguk doesn't exactly smile, but Daehyun thinks it's a near thing.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading <3 comments are appreciated! find me on twitter @andnowforyaya
> 
> also i might be doing nanowrimo next month, which would put all fic on hold for november. sorry for the slow updates ;A;


	12. the spark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a super short update. i'm so sorry for the wait.

The anger has still not left him.

He’d known something was wrong when it was not Daehyun who awoke him that morning with a pillow to his face and a mug of hot tea waiting for him, sweet laughter already bubbling from his mouth. Instead, another servant, a young girl named Chaeyoung with a small face and long hair tied in a single rope, had opened the curtains covering his windows and startled when Youngjae sat up in bed, squinting at her accusatorially.

“Where is Daehyun?” he’d asked gruffly. 

The girl’s eyes had been wide. She’d swallowed before she spoke, nervous and timid. “He has been taken to the mountain, sir,” she said. “He was chosen.”

The words had taken a long moment to sink in, to be processed. He’d sat there staring at her until she grew too uncomfortable and left in a hurry, muttering apologies under her breath.

Chosen.

Like it was a privilege.

There was only one mountain that Daehyun could have been taken to, and for only one reason. 

Youngjae had shot out of bed then, running over to Daehyun’s room, finding it bustling with servants who were cleaning and tidying it. He’d watched them work that morning, silent in the doorframe, watched them tuck the covers in around Daehyun’s bed, straighten items on Daehyun’s shelves, like they did every morning, like Daehyun was coming back. He’d watched, disoriented and unwashed, his hair like a wild nest on his head, until finally one of the servants spotted him and paused. This caused the others to pause, and soon everyone was looking at him.

“Master Youngjae,” they’d said, “would you like for one of us to bring you breakfast?” 

His ears rang. Sound broke like a twig snapping underfoot. He’d chased the servants from the room like a crazed animal, could see the whites of their eyes as they let go of the covers and walked briskly from their duties, leaving alone in the awful tranquility of Daehyun’s empty bedroom. 

There was a book splayed open on his nightstand, inks left out to dry up on Daehyun’s little writing desk. Daehyun had left his window open a crack, so Youngjae didn’t touch it. He couldn’t. He sat in Daehyun’s room and cried the whole morning away, wondering why there hadn’t been any warning or proper procession of Daehyun’s march to the mountain but too lost in his grief to dig at the thought.

He hadn’t been able to say good bye. The last thing he’d said to Daehyun was some snippy comment about Daehyun losing his eyesight if he kept reading by starlight well into the night. He’d thought about kissing Daehyun’s forehead as they went their separate ways to sleep, but as always, he’d held back. He'd thought about kissing Daehyun's lips.

A servant brought him a lunch he didn’t eat. The soup went cold. The rice congealed together into a hard lump in the metal bowl. The servant came by and took the food away again. He sat in Daehyun’s room a little while longer, until the sun was starting to go down.

Only then did his father appear at the doorframe, knocking politely and pushing the door open. His face was grim, lines at the corners of his lips in a frown. “Have you finished your tantrum?” he said.

Youngjae sniffed. He knew his eyes were puffy, his cheeks ruddy and red. But Daehyun was all alone at the top of the mountain, surely awaiting death. He sat in the middle of Daehyun’s room on the floor, knees huddled to his chest, feeling young and stupid. They had never thought this would happen to them. Daehyun was loved, here. He had become a part of the Yoo family. He told his father, “Leave me be.”

“I cannot leave you be if you continue to act like a child. You’re scaring the servants.”

“Why didn’t you wake me before they took him?” Youngjae said.

His father looked at him. There was no pity in his expression, only a dull satisfaction that Youngjae more often associated with news during dinner that he’d made some sort of hard decision, like relieving someone of employment, or denying a family a loan. His father spoke often enough about the goings-on of his business that Youngjae was familiar with the many expressions he could bear that were all used to mask disdain.

His father said, “You’re not a child anymore, Youngjae. Clean yourself up. We will see you at dinner before I leave for Busan.”

As the days passed, his grief shifted to anger, and then back again. The two emotions battled each other with every meal he took without Daehyun, every time he passed Daehyun’s room. Grief and anger were so intertwined by now that he was not sure where one emotion began and the other ended.

His mother had shut herself into her room, and if Youngjae were being honest, he couldn’t bother himself with trying to reach out to her. He was still trying to understand what had happened, and why. Himchan came over often, speaking to him in beseeching tones to join him for a walk to the market or to venture to the bakery with him for a sweet treat. Youngjae declined every time, and continues to decline each invitation. He is not ready to leave the house. There is a secret here that begs to be found, in his father’s words, in Daehyun’s sudden leaving, in his mother’s self-imposed isolation.

Youngjae stares up at his ceiling, flat on his back on his bed, replaying the scene with his father in his head. He wonders what his father really meant to say. His father had left shortly after dinner on a business trip to Busan and is due to return soon, after nearly two weeks in the city by the ocean. What impeccable timing, Youngjae thinks bitterly.

He looks out of his window at the dark, inky sky. The moon is fat and ripening, glowing and dripping light across the cloud. In two weeks, it will be full. He thinks of Daehyun, and wonders if he is looking out at the same moon.

.


	13. jasmine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, thanks for your patience <3 thank you so much for your comments on the previous chapter <3 sorry for the wait

Time passes at the top of the mountain, the moon growing fatter and fatter each night, until her glow rivals that of the midday sun, and Daehyun finds it hard to sleep through her silvery brightness. He curls up in his small bed and wonders if he’s finally snapped. What does he think he’s doing here? Surely, no matter what kindness develops between them, Yongguk will still kill him at the end of the month when he turns into...that monster.

They haven’t spoken about it, but Yongguk’s lack of contradiction in the face of Daehyun’s statements about the moon and shapeshifting might well serve as confirmation.

Yongguk _changes_. Into what, exactly, Daehyun doesn’t know. But it’s some sort of beast that Yongguk may or may not have control over, a beast with claws strong and sharp enough to render the heavy wooden doors into splinters.

Does Daehyun think that getting to know the man will keep the beast at bay? Does he think Yongguk deserves humanity and kindness, even after all that he’s done? Daehyun rolls over on his bed and scolds himself silently. He doesn’t believe Yongguk deserves humanity, and yet here he is, showing it, giving it. Hoping it can change him. Hoping it can keep Daehyun alive. Has Yongguk shown any remorse for the acts he has committed on this mountain? Perhaps the strict isolation of self is a form of punishment in which Yongguk partakes. Perhaps.

They are together in the library more often than not, now. Daehyun wouldn’t go as far as to say they are _spending time_ together, but they are together, sharing space, and sometimes Daehyun speaks, and Yongguk listens. He often only speaks about the stories he is reading, wondering aloud what the characters are thinking when they do something that is so obviously outside of their best interests, when they discover their own fallibility, and the only sign that Yongguk is listening is how still he becomes when Daehyun opens his mouth.

Sometimes Yongguk brings tea, and rice crackers to nibble on, and Daehyun has to remember that the man taking tiny bites of the snacks and getting crumbs all over his white clothes is a murderer and not a harmless albeit awkward and lonely man.

Because sometimes he forgets. Sometimes, when he speaks and Yongguk listens, Yongguk looks at him and Daehyun knows he wants to smile. It’s there, under the mask of his face. Daehyun can sense it. Maybe that’s where Daehyun’s hope comes from.

.

He shouldn’t be out here in the bamboo thicket, but Junhong had followed when Daehyun began to drag his painting materials outside and even helped him carry a little desk to a shaded alcove hidden in the thickest part of the forest, and Daehyun sat, and still sits, painting. Every once in awhile, a breeze filters through the stalks and the forest creaks and groans, and shadows flit from the corners of Daehyun’s eyes. Junhong is trying very hard not to nap in his spot near Daehyun’s desk, leaning back against the bamboo like the hard stalks are a cradle. He is giving Daehyun this liberty, this small freedom, like a jail guard would a prisoner for his last meal.

Daehyun wonders if others had figured out the secret, or if he’s the only one. Had others also been given small liberties and freedom as the end of the month neared?

“Junhong,” Daehyun asks, “how long have you served your master?”

Junhong hums, eyes closed. “As long as there have been stories about him.”

Daehyun balks, his brush freezing over his paper and the paint bleeding out from the tip, making a huge blot on the sheet. “The stories existed before I was born, before our parents were born. Maybe even before that."

Junhong waves a hand, and then counts something on his fingers. “It hasn’t been as long as you are thinking. A little more than half a century.”

“I was thinking a few years,” Daehyun mumbles. “Four at most. You can’t be much older than I am, if you are, even.”

“Oh,” Junhong says, “I have been the same age since the curse started.”

The surprise Daehyun feels at this is minimal. After shapeshifters and curses, a small thing such as aging doesn't feel like such a shock. “Tell me about the curse,” Daehyun demands, painting long-forgotten. The drawing is ruined, anyway.

“I don’t think it’s for me to tell,” Junhong says. “If you’re so curious, ask my master.”

Daehyun huffs, throwing his brush onto the desk and splattering diluted ink across the surface. “I don’t want to ask your master. He is foul.”

“He is not,” Junhong says patiently. “He _was_ not. He used to be very thoughtful and kind, you know? Before...all of this.”

“Well,” Daehyun argues, “for a little more than half a century, I suppose he’s had time to lose every ounce of thoughtfulness and kindness he once possessed.”

“He brings you tea.”

“He brings tea for himself. I just happen to be there sometimes.”

“No,” Junhong says with a small smile. “He brings it for _you_.”

Daehyun pouts and crosses his arms, fighting the heat that is starting to crawl across his face. The shadows in the forest shift again, and Daehyun wonders if it is Yongguk, creepily spying on them. He wouldn’t put it past him.

“Well, if he’s bringing it for me, he should know I prefer Jasmine.”

Junhong smirks, playful and young, and Daehyun wonders if, one day, Junhong will ever get the chance to grow old.

.

The atmosphere at dinner is thicker than the stew their cook has prepared for them, and Youngjae blithely hopes that his father might suffocate on that or the stew itself. His father has hardly returned from his business trip in Busan before he is sitting down to dinner and interrogating Youngjae about his studies and if he has moved on from his episodes just two weeks prior.

“Episodes?” Youngjae asks, voice steely. He hadn't wanted to sit at the table with them for dinner, but his mother had beseeched him to join, to show his face, to begin to mend the rift she was sending was forming between Youngjae and his father. Now, his mother looks between them both, aware of the tension and anticipating.

“Your hysterical crying,” his father explains. “Your tantrums.”

“ _You_ sent Daehyun up the mountain, somehow,” Youngjae accuses. “Admit it.” He has been thinking about this continuously since his father left. It was strange there had been no procession for Daehyun, almost like the village, or someone powerful within their village, was trying to hide his being chosen. Daehyun had been sent off early in the morning, long before the servants normally woke. Long before Youngjae woke. It had been planned. But why?

It’s as though his father doesn’t hear him. He rolls his shoulders and spoons rice into his mouth and lets the family fall into silence again before saying, “I’ve been thinking about your prospects, Youngjae. You are of an age.”

“Excuse me?”

“To marry,” his father says. “In a few years, you will partner with me in my business, and it wouldn’t do for you to be without a wife to stand at your side.”

“Were you worried that Daehyun would get in the way?” He is gripping his spoon so hard that the metal digs painfully into his palms. His father arranged for Daehyun to be sent up the mountain, Youngjae realizes, because he wanted Youngjae to marry. Because he sensed the thing that was growing between the two young men, and wanted to stop it? Or because he thought whoever married Youngjae would find it odd how close the two friends were?

“We’ll ensure the match is proper, of course. I have a few young women in mind for you, all daughters of good business contacts.”

“You went to Busan to negotiate my marriage,” Youngjae says.

“Seeing as you had no interest in it yourself, I had to.”

Youngjae slams his palms onto the table, making both of his parents jump in their seats. The utensils rattle on the table’s surface and the stew in the center sloshes dangerously. “Youngjae,” his mother hisses, but he pays her no mind. She allowed this to happen, too.

“You're right. I have no interest in the kind of marriage you are describing. Daehyun will die up there,” Youngjae shouts, knowing the servants will hear. Wanting them to.

“Youngjae,” his father says sternly, his face suddenly an alarming shade of red. “Behave.”

“You have killed him,” Youngjae says.

“He was an orphan. He was chosen. It is the way. Forget him.”

Youngjae refuses. He shoves himself back from the table and stands, storming off and not looking back. He knows his father will think he is simply throwing another tantrum, and leave him to his own devices. He knows his mother will check on him in about an hour, bring him something to snack on, and then leave again. He knows the servants will not come near his quarters for the rest of the evening. That is good. He will wait until it is quiet, and then he will move, and the moon will light his way.

.


	14. cursed

The moon is nearly full. When Daehyun looks out of his window into the night sky it seems to drip light, like a freshly laundered robe being hung out to dry. A smattering of stars twinkle in and out beside it, pale when compared to the moon.

Daehyun thinks that soon, he will die. It’s only a matter of time. Yongguk will shift -- he doesn’t know if the beast emerges only by the light of the full moon or if he may emerge a little before, or a little after -- and he will hunt, and Daehyun can run all he wants but surely the beast will catch him in the bamboo thicket maze, or at the gate. He dares not lead Yongguk down the mountain, because even if the village has abandoned Daehyun to his death at the summit, Youngjae is still down there, and others like Youngjae.

He lays in bed and stares out at the moon and imagines what death will be like. Peaceful, he thinks, after the killing bit, anyway. Daehyun has never believed that there is a higher being or a place where only the deserving ascend after life. Doesn’t seem very fair. However, now that the stories of shapeshifters are proving to be true, and now that he’s facing death himself, he thinks he might have it in himself to reassess his beliefs.

“If there’s anyone up there listening,” Daehyun mumbles, “and if it has to happen, just please let it be quick.”

He feels foolish after. He may as well go to Yongguk himself and beg for mercy.

Wait. Yongguk.

Of course. What’s the harm in confronting Yongguk in his final hours and doing just that? It’s not like Daehyun has anything to lose. Appealing to Yongguk’s humanity doesn’t seem to be doing the trick, at least not quickly enough for Daehyun’s comfort.

Mind made, Daehyun rises and straightens his tunic and robes. He slides his door open and steps into his slippers, wondering where he will find Yongguk. The wing with the library obviously also houses Yongguk’s personal quarters, and the warning about wandering there now seems silly. How can Yongguk punish him for breaking the rules? He sets off in that direction, taking the now-familiar halls and stairs leading up to the double doors that open to the footbridge to the other wing.

He steps quietly and quickly, looking over his shoulder and wary of the moving shadows. He wonders where Junhong is. In the beginning of this all, didn’t Junhong say he would be keeping a close eye on Daehyun, guarding him? But lately, Junhong has really been allowing Daehyun to wander freely so long as he stayed away from the spaces past the library. Even so, Daehyun has a feeling that Junhong would no longer care if he knew where Daehyun was going, not now.

It doesn’t take him long to reach the footbridge and cross it. The heights and the views no longer make him dizzy. He pushes open the heavy double doors and steps into the library.

It’s still and dark. He realizes he has never seen the library like this, lit silver by the moon. It feels like stepping into a mausoleum, but even so, the books call out to him with feathery whispers, wanting to be opened and read. With effort, Daehyun turns away from the library and looks down past it, down the hall where he has not yet stepped foot. Not even five paces away from the library, the shadows of this hall seem to swallow any light from the moon.

He swallows as his heart starts to beat more quickly and chastises himself silently. Surely, there’s is nothing here more frightening than Yongguk himself, and Yongguk -- as a man -- isn’t nearly as terrifying as Daehyun originally thought. Still, he hugs the wall as he walks and his eyes adjust to the lack of light, and as his eyes adjust he realizes there are more paintings on the walls, and scrolls. Even here, Yongguk has decorated the space as any man would who appreciates the arts.

The hallway ends in a door. This wing is much smaller than Daehyun realized, and must _only_ contain Yongguk’s quarters and the library. He stills and stands in front of the sliding papered door and tries to calm his heart.

“Yongguk-sshi?” he tries to say, but his voice comes out ragged in a barely-there whisper. Clearing his throat, he tries again. “Yongguk-sshi?”

No answer. It’s the middle of the night, so what was Daehyun expecting? Perhaps he’d been expecting that Yongguk doesn’t sleep. That beasts don’t sleep.

“Yongguk-sshi,” Daehyun says louder, daring to press his fingers against the edge of the door and slowly drag it open. It grates in its grooves, making a noise like the hissing of a snake. Yongguk’s room is just as dark as the hallway, but since Daehyun has adjusted to the lack of light, he can make out the outline of pieces of furniture -- a desk against the wall, a wardrobe, a divider, a large bed.

And in the large bed, Yongguk.

“I’m entering your room,” Daehyun says bravely. He takes a tiny step in, watching the lump on the bed and tensing when his toe touches the ground. But Yongguk doesn’t move. He takes another step, and another, and another. A thought flits through his mind at Yongguk’s deep sleep: he could slay the beast. He could do it and save the village from sending any other orphan to the top of this wretched mountain to be sacrificed.

But when he comes upon Yongguk and looks down at his sleeping face, he can’t, and the thought of taking another life for any reason at all sickens him. Yongguk is sleeping, but fitfully. His brow is furrowed, and his hair is matted to his forehead with sweat. His lips are moving but he isn’t saying anything that makes sense. A nightmare? Or is he ill?

Daehyun reaches out to put his hand against Yongguk’s forehead without a thought. It’s cool and clammy, and he snatches his hand away again, a little disgusted. Yongguk grunts, eyelids fluttering open.

His eyes seem to flash red as he bolts to sitting in his bed, growling, “What are you doing here?” His gruff tone and aggressive words lose their bite, however, when he succumbs to a coughing fit and hunches over pitifully, hacking out his lungs.

“Begging for my life,” Daehyun says. “You look awful.”

Yongguk grunts again, sitting back, exhaustion in his features. Outside, the clouds shift and the moon shines her light into his room. “Get out,” he orders weakly.

“Are you ill?” Daehyun asks.

“No,” Yongguk bites out. “I am not.”

“Well, you certainly don’t look like you’re not ill.”

“Get out,” he says again, with less resolution this time.

“Who takes care of you when you’re sick?” Daehyun asks, frowning.

“I am not sick,” Yongguk said.

“It’s sad,” Daehyun realizes aloud. “You must be very lonely.”

Yongguk sighs and rolls his eyes and says, “I took a potion. It did not work. That’s all.”

“A potion?” Daehyun sits on the edge of the bed, curiosity overtaking his actions. “For what?”

Yongguk looks at him. He sighs again. “The curse.”

Daehyun’s eyes widen. “You’re trying to stop it?”

Yongguk huffs and narrows his eyes, running a hand through his damp hair and grimacing. “Of course.”

“Oh,” Daehyun says quietly, more to himself than to Yongguk, looking away from the man on the bed to the moon outside again. It is always in sight, as though taunting them both with her nearness. Daehyun once thought the moon to be beautiful. “Lie down,” Daehyun says. “I’ll be right back.”

Incredulous, Yongguk sputters, “What?” but Daehyun is already moving, steps quick and light out the door.

Daehyun returns with a tray, on top of which is a small pot of tea, a tea cup, and a bowl of warm water with a washcloth waiting to be dipped in it. He’d awakened Junhong in his room by the entrance to the manor to bring him to the kitchens. Junhong had blearily given in to Daehyun’s wishes and demands, spurred along by Daehyun’s sense of urgency, but had gone right back to his bedroom to sleep when they were done, not questioning what Daehyun was about to do with all the materials he'd gathered on the tray.

Yongguk does not protest when Daehyun enters his bedroom a second time. Instead, he watches with wide eyes as Daehyun puts the tray on the bedside table and prods at Yongguk until he is laying back to a degree that satisfies Daehyun.

“Here,” Daehyun says, wetting the cloth in the warm water and wringing it out before wiping it gently over Yongguk’s forehead. Yongguk winces at the contact, mouth open slightly, not really breathing. The aroma from the tea fills the room. Jasmine.

“What are you doing?” Yongguk asks.

“Whenever I was sick,” Daehyun says fondly, “Youngjae would make me tea and sit by me like this. Usually until he fell asleep himself. It might not help physically, but it will make you feel better.”

“Why are you trying to make me feel better?”

Daehyun pauses in wiping Yongguk’s forehead, mouth working. “I don’t know,” he admits.

Yongguk swallows hard, his throat bobbing visibly. He says, “Your kindness -- it reminds me that I am a monster.”

Daehyun brushes the cloth over Yongguk’s forehead and the older man’s eyelids flutter closed. He swipes down over his temples and cheeks and pushes his hair from his forehead, feeling that, like this, Yongguk really seems to be just a man. A lonely one. He says, “I am starting to think there are far worse monsters than you.”

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> daehyun is too Good for this world or he's losing his sanity due to the high altitude and encroaching death. sorry.


	15. the spell

Youngjae meets Himchan at the city’s stables with the moon shining on his back, the streets mostly empty save for a few drunkards roaming about, too intoxicated to find their own feet, let alone make out who Youngjae is, especially since Youngjae has taken the time to don a hooded cloak, first to hide his features, and second to hide the holster around his waist holding a short dagger and canteen of water. He’d had to climb down the trellis from his room to escape and evade the notice of his father, and already his boots are a little muddy underneath from treading in the less-kept alleyways and fields away from the main streets.

“Did you bring it?” he asks Himchan when they meet behind the stables, the soft nickering of the mares inside serving as cover for their quiet conversation.

Himchan is dressed similarly, his eyes glittering under the hood of his cloak. “Of course. Took forever. It’s not like my father just has these lying around.”

Himchan pulls out a heavy, ornamental handgun from underneath his cloak, the metal gleaming and slightly warm to the touch, humming like it’s sentient and ready to be fired. Youngjae reaches out for it, and Himchan snatches it away.

“Do you even know how to use this?”

Youngjae scoffs. “Aim and pull the trigger. How hard can it be?”

“The recoil is killer,” Himchan says. “And it’s not a toy,” he continues more seriously. “Don’t wave it around willy-nilly.”

“I know it’s not a toy,” Youngjae says with exasperation, taking the gun from Himchan finally and checking that the chamber has been loaded with a few bullets. He stuffs the piece into his holster, acutely aware of how heavy it is and how it sits against his hip. “But I need it for when I go up the mountain.”

“I’m still not convinced this is a good idea,” Himchan whispers quickly, his words snappish. “At least let me come with you.”

“You are the least subtle person I know, Kim Himchan,” Youngjae says, not without warmth. “The point of me going up alone is to not raise suspicion.”

“I got here without raising any alarms, didn’t I?”

“You’ll get halfway up the mountain before you start moaning and groaning and waking up every beast within 1000 paces of us. Please, I need to do this.”

Himchan sighs and reaches forward, his hands going to Youngjae’s hips and making the younger boy startle at the movement, but all Himchan does is tighten his harness for him. The gun sits a little more comfortably at his hip after that.

“You’re like a brother to me,” Himchan says. “And a dear friend. So. You have to come back.”

Youngjae swallows around the thickness in his throat. He has only thought about getting to the top of the mountain and finding Daehyun, alive. He hasn’t thought much about the return journey. The pieces are foggy in his mind, though there and ready to be plucked and examined. He has the dagger and the gun in case he has to use them, though of course he’d rather not. But if he comes face to face with the beast...wouldn’t it be better for everyone if the beast was killed?

Then the town could stop with this archaic, horrible ritual of sacrifices and live without fear of a monster coming down to gobble them up.

“Of course I’ll come back,” Youngjae says. “With Daehyun.”

Himchan suddenly pulls Youngjae into a hug that makes the breath whoosh right out of him. Youngjae returns it with some uncertainty, patting Himchan on the back a few times as Himchan squeezes. “Shut up,” Himchan says thickly. “I just want you to be careful.”

“I will be,” Youngjae promises.

Himchan lets him go, and then they sneak into the stables together to steal a horse.

.

It isn’t too hard to get out of town. Youngjae walks his horse -- a mare with a sleek brown coat named Jinju if he goes by the characters scrawled outside her stall -- to the edge where the town meets forest and only once runs into a drunkard who tries to stop and question him. He avoids him easily. Then it’s just a matter of climbing onto Jinju and taking the short trail through the forest to the foot of the mountain.

He’d thought the way would be dark and the trail overgrown, but the trail is well maintained, and the moon is so fat that it’s dripping light, making it relatively easy to identify where to step next. He knows from what he’s been told all his life that the way up the mountain should take a few hours by foot, and he figures that as he’s got Jinju, the time should be cut in half.

He takes the canteen from his hip and opens it, holding it to his lips for a quick drink of water as he imagines what he will find when he reaches the top. He pictures a cave of some sort, probably a very large one, one with hidden rooms and tunnels where a beast could hide its treasures -- and probably the bones of those it has killed. The water sluices down his throat and he nearly chokes on it. He sputters, closing the canteen and putting it away.

What if he finds the cave and Daehyun is already in one of the hidden rooms, heart stopped for who knows how long? The thought races across the front of his mind, unbidden, and Youngjae works to file it away and to think of something else. It’s useless to think that way. Besides, Daehyun is resilient, and a survivor. He’s alive; Youngjae knows it.

These thoughts occupy him for much of the journey up the mountain. There are a few tricky spots to pass through where he has to climb off Jinju and lead her over a cluster of boulders or across a small creak by hand, but it’s relatively uneventful. He thinks of the sacrifices who have had to make this journey alone, how scared they must be on the way up. How many of them might have simply stopped, run the other way, find another trail to lead them to another town or village? Could Daehyun have done that?

Youngjae shakes his head again. Daehyun is smart but he’s also loyal. He’d think it was his duty to make it all the way up the mountain.

Just when Youngjae is beginning to wonder when the sloping trail will give way, the mountain begins to even-out, which Youngjae knows means he is near the top. He keeps his eyes out for a cave or some other indication of a beast and where it might live, but only notices that the trail starts to become wider, a little cleaner, and bamboo begins to replace the trees, which is a bit strange.

Skeptical, Youngjae rides on, wary of the sounds Jinju’s hooves make against the trail, and then, quite suddenly, iron gates rise up in front of him, heavy and black and foreboding.

This is no cave.

Youngjae dismounts, peers through the bars of the iron gate, and decides it might be best for Jinju to remain outside of them. There is more bamboo on the other side, in what looks like a guided maze. Youngjae ties Jinju to a thick bamboo trunk near the end of the path before the gate and goes to examine the lock in the front and center. It’s made in the shape of a wolf.

When he leans to look closer and and prods at the lock with his finger, the gate creaks and swings open slowly on its hinges.

“Huh,” Youngjae says to himself quietly. “Unlocked.”

He doesn’t want the gate to make anymore sound that it already has, so he squeezes himself past the narrow opening that was created and takes one last look back at Jinju, who paws her front hoof against the ground as though in protest.

“I’ll be back,” he promises the horse. She whinnies quietly.

He sets forth into the bamboo maze, his senses on high alert for any and every sound. He stops when he hears the rustle of leaves to his right, followed by the high, clear notes of a wind chime, but when nothing else follows, tells himself it was just the breeze. This happens a few times, until Youngjae is jumping at every noise and chastising himself for being a coward. He’s here to save Daehyun, he thinks, not the other way around.

But then the bamboo gives way to a giant mansion. Youngjae scans the structure, not quite believing what he’s seeing. There are two distinct wings of the building, both built into the mountain rock so that it seems the mansion grows right out of the mountain itself. The wings are connected by a covered walkway, and Youngjae thinks that in any other light, strolling on that walkway with the person you love might be considered the pinnacle of romance, given the amazing scenery that must exist on the other side.

He considers that he could be dreaming. He could actually be asleep right now, having not escaped his father and home at all, and so dreamed up his journey and this mansion as a way to assuage his guilt for not rescuing Daehyun. For surely, if Daehyun is here, he’s not wanting for anything.

He shakes his head and frowns, looking up at the structure again. Daehyun might be here, but then so is the beast.

In the corner of his vision to the right, he sees movement. There, a figure has opened the door and is now walking across the walkway, carrying something carefully in their hands. Youngjae stays very still, watching, until the figure steps into the light of the moon and their profile is illuminated. He gasps.

Daehyun.

He’s still alive! He’s alive and well and Youngjae rushes forward, waving but not calling out, until he catches Daehyun’s attention.

Daehyun stops. The thing in his hands almost slips, but he catches it, eyes wide and unblinking. Youngjae beams at him, heart racing in his chest. He wants to cry out, but doesn’t want to risk that noise. He waves again, and Daehyun looks quickly to his left and to his right, and then he balances the bowl he’s carrying in one hand and makes a gesture for Youngjae to hide and wait.

Youngjae does, taking the few steps back into the bamboo thicket and watching as Daehyun crosses the walkway into the other wing. He hadn't imagined this to be so easy! He waits, heart hammering in his chest, giddy with excitement and the rush of finding out Daehyun is still alive. He feels like a weight has been lifted off of him that was slowly crushing him. Daehyun is alive!

Daehyun comes out of the mansion wearing robes that flow around him. His hair is longer, now, and frames his face, and he looks -- perturbed.

This lessens the excitement and giddiness erupting from Youngjae’s chest, making the smile falter on his face.

“Youngjae,” Daehyun says. “Youngjae, it’s you.”

They hug. Daehyun is just as Youngjae remembers -- soft and warm and wonderful. Though the faint lingering scent of jasmine is new. He wraps his arms around Daehyun tightly, burying his face into Daehyun’s neck.

“I came for you,” Youngjae says quietly, pulling back to hold Daehyun’s face gently between his hands. Oh, how he missed that perfect pout, that freckle beneath Daehyun’s eye. “I’m sorry I took so long. I didn’t know -- and when I found out you were up here, I was so angry. I just, I’m sorry I took so long. But now we can go. We can leave. You’ll be safe.”

The look on Daehyun’s face hasn’t changed. It’s equal parts longing and sadness and resolution. “I can’t,” he says.

Youngjae’s heart drops right down to his feet, confusion roaring up inside of him. “What do you mean, you can’t? I’m here. Let’s leave. I’ve got a horse. We can be back in town before morning.”

“No, I mean -- I _can’t._  I can’t leave. Not now. There’s -- something I have to take care of.”

“What can possibly be up here for you to take care of? Please don’t say it’s your duty.”

“But,” Daehyun says slowly, chewing on his bottom lip. “I think it _is_ my duty.”

“No,” Youngjae says emphatically. “No, you can’t stay. You have to come back with me.”

“I think I can help up here,” Daehyun explains, eyes filling with warmth. “I think I can make things better.”

“It’s not up to you to do that,” Youngjae says, the confusion inside of him turning into something else. Anger? Though he hates to be angry at Daehyun. Anger at the situation? Anger at the town for not doing something earlier? It roils and gathers, black and inky. Anger towards his father for sending Daehyun away.

“It’s not up to you,” Daehyun says carefully, “to tell me what I can and can’t do.”

Youngjae drops his hands in disbelief. “I came up here to save you. Are you saying...I shouldn’t have done that?”

Daehyun shakes his head. “I’m...so happy to see you. But there’s just -- something I can’t explain. I can’t leave now. Not when there’s a chance.”

Youngjae looks past Daehyun to the mansion, to the beauty it radiates even in the middle of the night. “What do you have here that I can’t give you?”

Daehyun’s bottom lip trembles. “I’m sorry, Youngjae,” he says. “I can’t leave with you.”

“You’re under a spell,” Youngjae says nodding to himself more than to Daehyun. “Of course. With beasts and mountains and the moon, there’s magic here. And you’re under a spell. That’s why you’re saying you can’t leave.”

“Please go,” Daehyun begs. “If he finds out you’re here--”

“He? The beast?” Daehyun nods, and Youngjae scoffs, bitter and understanding. The beast must have put a spell on Daehyun, and Youngjae likely can’t risk trying to remove Daehyun from the grounds until the beast is dead. That’s how spells and enchantments work. “I see. I’m not giving up, though. I’ll return soon, and convince you to come home with me.”

Daehyun smiles sadly. “I hope I’ll be able to see you again.”

The spell must be very strong. Maybe that’s what Youngjae could sense in the air around the mountain all this time. “You will,” he promises Daehyun, leaning forward to press a kiss to his cheek, and then to the corner of his lips. Daehyun inhales, lips parted, a faint blush dusting across his cheeks as Youngjae pulls away. 

This journey was not a waste of time, Youngjae thinks on his way down; he knows now that Daehyun is alive, and he knows now what he must do.

.


	16. the invitation

The sun rises in its relentless pursuit of morning as Daehyun stares out of the window frame at the tops of the mountains disappearing into the horizon, recalling the evening’s events in his mind. First, finding Yongguk taken ill in his bed and being unable to stop himself from looking down on the man in sympathy. Second, discovering that Yongguk wanted to stop the curse, whatever the terms were. Third, running into Youngjae outside of the mansion.

Youngjae!

Youngjae, who looked as good as he ever looked, dark hair swept across his forehead, eyes alight with hope and courage and love. Touching Youngjae had felt so good -- his fingers and hands so familiar and warm. But touching Youngjae had also felt strange, like trying to fit together the pieces of a puzzle and finding the edges mismatched. Something had changed between them. Youngjae still looked at Daehyun with such fondness and certainty, but Daehyun hadn’t been able to muster up that same certainty. It was like all his life he’d been told a lake was all there was in the world and now suddenly he was looking at an ocean.

He wanted to cry on the spot. He wanted to leap down the mountain with him in one go, but when Youngjae had tugged on his hand to go, Daehyun’s feet felt rooted in place.

He couldn’t leave. Not now. Not yet. Not after what he’d seen. Yongguk isn’t a beast after all, but a man trapped by...sorcery. By something Daehyun isn’t certain of yet. But Yongguk is trying to fight it. He’d said he’d taken some sort of potion last night, and that’s why he was suffering the effects, and Daehyun wants to believe wholeheartedly that Yongguk was telling him the truth. What purpose would be served by a lie?

He sends a silent prayer up into the clouds that Youngjae won’t do anything drastic while Daehyun throws caution and self-preservation to the wind and remains at the top of the mountain. He has the vague notion that he can help Yongguk stop this curse, or at least help him fight it, if Yongguk is willing. Youngjae’s voice in his head tells him to stop being so naive and foolish and optimistic, but really, what’s left for Daehyun to do? If he does return to the village with Youngjae -- assuming there will be another chance like last night -- how can he face the Yoo family again? How can he face the other villagers, the other children, knowing he’s sent another orphan to their doom?

At least up here, he can try to use the remaining time he has well. He can get to know Yongguk, figure out how to help him. And if he fails at least he will have tried.

At least Yongguk will have known Daehyun had tried, and maybe that would be enough to make a difference for the next orphan the village sends up the mountain.

The blanket from the bed draped across his shoulders, he curls up tighter within the cocoon he’s made for himself. Why didn’t he run with Youngjae? He could have. Should have. He wants so much to be in his own bed in the Yoo’s house, reading stories with Youngjae until their eyelids were so heavy they felt like lead. But something keeps him here, even now, and Daehyun doesn’t think that something is magic.

He blinks when the sun shifts out from behind a smattering of clouds, momentarily blinding him, and rubs at his eyes. He barely slept but he's not tired at all. Instead, a new energy seems to invigorate him from the inside out. He feels like a sunflower turning his face toward the sun. 

There’s a knock at the door, and then it slides open slightly. Daehyun hears the tinkling of a tray with glass bowls and cups balanced on it being set down onto the ground outside of his door, and scrambles quickly to it, fingers finding the edge of the sliding door and flinging the it open wide.

Junhong startles from his place kneeling on the ground, hand knocking over the cup of tea on the tray and soaking the steaming bowl of white rice right next to it. He looks up at Daehyun with big, round eyes.

“Junhong!” Daehyun greets suddenly.

“Y-yes?” Junhong manages to stammer out.

“How is your master? How’s Yongguk?” Daehyun asks, kneeling down onto the floor to help Junhong clean up the mess without a thought. Junhong begins to clean up slowly, regarding Daehyun with a small amount of suspicion in his eyes.

“He’s...alright, I suppose,” Junhong says. “Why do you ask?”

“He’d taken ill last night,” Daehyun explains, nodding.

“Is that why there was a bowl of water by his bed and a washcloth? I wondered about that…” Junhong hums, thinking to himself and wiping up the remaining tea that had spilled with a cloth he procures from his robes. Then he freezes. “Wait -- you asked for those things last night," he beings, slowly recalling his own night. "So I wasn't dreaming. Were you in his rooms?”

Daehyun hums as well, smirking a little bit, enjoying teasing Junhong. “Maybe. It’s not like he was in any condition to chase me out.”

“You should see him when he’s angry,” Junhong says with a shudder. They titter together over that comment, feeling childish, and then Junhong sits back onto his knees with a sigh, taking the tray with both hands. “Well, breakfast is ruined. So sit tight and I will bring you another.”

He stands, and Daehyun stands with him, putting a hand on Junhong’s arm when he turns to go. “Wait.”

Junhong waits.

“Why don’t we -- eat together? The three of us?” Daehyun puts a hopeful expression on his face, one that Youngjae claims looks like a cross between a puppy begging for treats and a toddler wanting a toy. It almost always works.

Junhong grimaces and shakes his head, clearly immune to Daehyun's expressions. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. For one, Master Yongguk has already eaten--” 

“Then for lunch,” Daehyun says. “We shall have lunch. And I won’t take no for an answer.”

“I don’t think--”

“I won’t take no for an answer,” Daehyun insists, grinning.

Junhong looks like he’s about to say something more, but changes his mind in the middle of opening his mouth. “I’ll see if he’s amenable,” he finally acquiesces.

Daehyun resists the urge to clap his hands. He feels like he has made a major triumph, like this is the first step to something much larger. “I shall wear my finest robes,” he jokes, noting the responding twinkle in Junhong’s eye.

Junhong says, “Don’t be silly. The red ones will do.”

.


	17. the dining room

Daehyun spends much of his morning fretting over his decision to stay. He knows he’s made the right decision, in his heart, but that creeping voice of doubt keeps rearing its head in the most inopportune moments, like when he’s rifling through the wardrobe in his room to look for the red robes Junhong mentioned. He finds them stuffed very nearly into the back. When he brings them out, he discovers the fabric to be softer and lighter than he remembers and expects, like silk, and the color runs deep and vibrant throughout. Like blood.

Daehyun sits on the floor in his room and shivers with the robes pooled in his lap. What if Junhong suggested the red robes so that -- if Yongguk attacks him tonight -- it won’t be such a hassle for Junhong to wash the blood from the clothes?

He shakes his head. No, Junhong would never. Besides, Daehyun’s never seen Junhong handle the laundry in any shape or form. Come to think of it, Daehyun isn’t sure how he seems to have a fresh set of clothes every morning in his wardrobe. And where do his dirty clothes go? He leaves them in a bin just outside the bathing room and forgets about them, usually.

No matter. There are still many secrets to this estate he has yet to uncover.

For lunch, he’ll wear the red robes, and he’ll talk to Yongguk, and he’ll figure out a way to help him break the curse.

That’s what Yongguk wants, too, right?

.

Junhong comes to retrieve him from his room when the sun is higher in the sky, nearing its zenith. It takes a moment for Daehyun to place where the shock comes from in seeing Junhong when he’s seen him everyday for these past few weeks, but then he realizes: Junhong has cleaned up.

Not that he was unkempt, before. But now, the boy’s face is smooth and seems dewy, freshly shaven, and his hair has been washed and dried so that it’s fluffy and frames his face. The robes Junhong is wearing are still plain and white but different from his usual garb, also. Daehyun looks closer, and sees tiny gold trim lining the edges of the robes, a subtle but eye-catching embellishment.

“You look nice,” Daehyun remarks when Junhong turns smartly on his heel for Daehyun to follow him to the “dining room”, whatever that room is. Daehyun’s never seen it before.

The tips of Junhong’s ears turn pink. “You, as well,” he says. Daehyun looks down at himself. He’s wearing the red robes and feels a little silly in them, like a kid playing dress up and pretending to be a prince. The sleeves drip from his elbows and are trimmed with gold embroidery, and the collar is adorned with gold and pink embroidered flowers. He attempted to comb his hair before, and pinched his cheeks to encourage them to blush. He does look nice, but the collar is surprisingly itchy at his throat.

“Trying to impress me?” Daehyun continues cheekily, scampering up to meet Junhong’s long strides as they travel through the house, carving a familiar path for Daehyun. They are making their way to Yongguk’s wing.

Junhong scoffs, “It’s not everyday the village sacrifice asks to dine with their would-be killer.” But he turns to Daehyun when he says it, his tone light, and perhaps a little hopeful. When they get outside and reach the walkway connecting the two wings, Junhong sighs, his breath carried away by the breeze filtering between the two doors on either end of the covered bridge. The air is fresh and clean up here, brisk. Daehyun breathes it in and lets it fill his lungs with its purity. “You’re different,” Junhong finally says, by the big doors marking entrance to Yongguk’s wing.

“I hope,” Daehyun says.

Junhong nods, smile flitting across his lips, and pushes the doors open.

.

The dining room is down the hall from the library, nearing Yongguk’s room, offset by closed sliding doors. It’s no wonder Daehyun has never come across it -- up until just now, Daehyun is fairly certain these doors didn’t exist. Perhaps they were hidden by a large tapestry. If he squints, he can see how the wood and paint bordering the doors is lighter than the rest of the wood and paint in the hallway, like it’s been preserved.

Junhong slides open the doors with some difficulty, trying to mask the effort on his face. The grooves for the doors must be sticky.

“After you,” Junhong says, gesturing.

It is a simple dining room, probably meant for a small family rather than for dining with guests or for entertainment. In the center is a low table of sleek, lacquered wood, so shiny Daehyun can see his reflection in it. Around the table are six flat cushions marking seats, all made of silk and bright colors like jewels. Along the walls hang scrolls of paintings of landscapes and flora. The table is already set for three, with bowls and spoons and chopsticks laid out. The food is displayed in the center, and smells amazing. Daehyun sees a rich, hearty looking stew filled with meat and vegetables, a serving bowl of fluffy white rice, a whole fried fish on a platter, and side dishes of pickled vegetables and salads. He salivates.

Daehyun turns to Junhong after surveying the room, confused. “Where is Yongguk?” Daehyun asks.

“Well,” Junhong says, looking at anything but Daehyun’s face, “he’s, uh, on his way.”

“But his room is just next door,” Daehyun says.

“He said he needed a few minutes, and that we should begin.”

Daehyun frowns, still standing, and marches out into the hallway. “The food will get cold,” he insists, suspicion growing in his belly.

“Uh, um,” Junhong stutters as he follows Daehyun. But he doesn’t try to stop him.

Daehyun reaches Yongguk’s door in a few hurried steps, and then he raises his fist to knock.

“I’m not coming,” Yongguk says through the door before Daehyun even has a chance to rap his knuckles. His voice is rough and surprising, and brings Daehyun up short initially, but Daehyun quickly gathers himself.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Daehyun says. “Why not? The food looks delicious.”

“I will eat it later,” Yongguk says, stubborn. “Alone. I don’t like company.”

“Well, that’s too bad.” Daehyun crosses his arms in front of himself and taps his foot. Junhong shifts his weight from leg to leg behind him. “Company is here,” Daehyun continues, referring to himself. “And it’s not my fault I’m here, either. Come out and be civilized, would you? Or are you really a beast?”

He hears Junhong gasp behind him, and he knows he took a risk in saying something so inflammatory, but he’s here to try to help, now, and he won’t be stopped by someone’s childish behaviors.

Yongguk doesn’t say anything for a long moment, and Daehyun worries he really did go too far -- it wouldn't be the first time his mouth moved quicker than his brain -- and then Daehyun finally hears him mumble, “I can be civilized,” more to himself than to anyone else, slightly petulant. Then, Yongguk says louder, “I will be out shortly.”

Daehyun nods, satisfied. “Good. We won’t start until you join us.”

He turns to go back into the dining room, smirking when he sees Junhong’s bewildered expression.

.

**Author's Note:**

> beauty and the beast retelling?
> 
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